


adrenaline

by reveries_passions



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Blowjobs, Car Sex, Coming Out, DJ Louis Tomlinson, Daddy Kink, Everyone Is Gay, Gay Club, Harry is bi, Harvard University, Homophobia, M/M, One Night Stands, Past Abuse, Praise Kink, Smut, Some sexy times, Student Harry, a lot of crying, a lot of lobster rolls, do i wanna know is like always playing, harry is a smartass, harry is just A Lot, harry is needy and has a daddy kink so ok, harry loves the eagles and fleetwood mac, its a whole mess !, kind of enemies with benefits ??, liam is a questioning bby but we still love him more than ever, louis is a dj, louis is gay as heck, minor aphobia, niall is ace and my son, nick grimshaw is aphobic, past zouis, tbh, theres an arrest, two night stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 06:46:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 38,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15858372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reveries_passions/pseuds/reveries_passions
Summary: “Harry Styles,” Nameless Boy who now has a name says. Louis is too busy having an internal crisis to realize the boy has just introduced himself as Harry Styles. Harry Styles, only son of Des Styles, PhD, Dean of Harvard Medical School. Harry Styles, known by everyone and their grandmother. Harry Styles, star rower. Harry Styles, youngest enrolled student in graduate school at Harvard University.Oh my god, Louis thinks, mortified.I just slept with Harry Styles.As he reaches out tentatively to shake the boy’s hand, another thought hits him.Oh my god. Harry Styles is gay.~louis tomlinson, college dropout, up and coming dj, and gay activist, is the notorious owner of exclusive underground gay club, adrenaline.harry styles, med student by day, partier by night, child prodigy and seemingly heterosexual son of harvard professors, is the youngest and arguably the smartest student at harvard medical school.or: a one night stand wasn't supposed to become the greatest love story of the 21st century.





	1. part one

**Author's Note:**

> so ... this is a thing i guess ?  
> i dont know anything about dj-ing and im definitely no expert in legal systems but heres a thing !  
> title from medicine by harry styles .  
> disclaimer : this is a work of fiction and in no way reflects on real life people or organizations.  
> enjoy :D

There’s a thick shadow over the dusty pub floor where a panel of wall separates the two big windows from each other. 

The setting seven o’clock early September sun sears too hot against the back of Louis’ head. When he lifts his hand to feel over his hair, it burns hot and only reminds him of the headache pounding from the inside of his skull. 

He picks up his glass and takes a long swig, then grimaces, taking another gulp. Adam smirks at him from where he’s swiping a cloth over the pub counter. 

“Still feeling last night, eh?” he observes a little too pointedly, swinging the cloth back over his shoulder. He collects two empty glasses from the last costumers. The pub is nearly empty, Wednesday’s wealthy patrons having filtered out for an expensive meal elsewhere. There’s not a college student in sight, and that’s just how Louis likes it. 

“Maybe,” Louis replies grimly. He swipes his finger through his beer foam. “Thought it would take the edge off; I think it’s only making it worse.” 

“You can’t fight fire with fire,” Adam tells him, amused, and puts a full glass of ginger ale down in the place of Louis’ beer. 

Begrudgingly, he accepts it, and downs half the glass. His headache eases slightly. 

“Should probably move out of the sun as well,” Adam suggests, with a nod at the violent glare bouncing off the frames on the wall. “That surely can’t help much.”

Louis shrugs a shoulder and doesn’t move. 

They’ve known each other long enough for Louis to know Adam has his best interests in mind, but there’s always a tiny sense of caution that’s stayed with him since they first met, when Louis was a freshly homeless Berklee dropout and Adam was a brewery intern in Harvard Square. Even still, he’s wary of anything the man advises, but he thinks that’s just because he’s a stubborn bastard who doesn’t like to listen to anyone. 

“Anything unusual planned for tonight?” Adam says conversationally. There’s an ounce of warning in his words, as if he’s scared Louis will do something drastic like the night he let a group of drag queens DJ and the party didn’t end until six am. 

“Not that I’ve set up,” Louis answers coolly. It’s not a lie. He never anticipates anything unusual, but unusual things seem to always manage to find their ways to him. 

Adam only hums, then ducks through the back door with his hands full of empty glasses.

Louis presses his cold palm to his forehead. Tired. Headache. Hot. He figures a good lay will do the trick. It’s been a while, anyway. He doesn’t usually like to take home boys from Adrenaline but he’s got to live a little, right? Being a nightclub owner isn’t  _ easy.  _

“Adam?” he calls. “Am I a bad person?” 

Adam, behind the door, laughs, and doesn’t say anything. 

He disembarks down the back stairs when it’s quarter to eight, after bidding a goodnight to Adam and receiving a good luck in return. It’s a beautiful night of pink tinged clouds and golden light, which means everyone’s spirits will be set high to begin with. Zayn is already downstairs when Louis pushes through the heavy single door; he’s standing behind the bar meticulously arranging the straws just so. 

Louis prides himself in the cleanliness and organization of his club. The space he has isn’t large--it only covers about three quarters of the pub’s floor space, and there’s a pilar smack in the center to hold the goddamn ceiling up--but the setup is minimalist and tidy. There’s a bar near the entrance, and the entrance is always guarded by a bouncer, and the list of attendees is short and sweet and never past seventy. 

He doesn’t charge people to get inside. The guest list per night is carefully crafted by himself and Zayn at the start of each month and invitations are sent out on a rolling basis to Boston’s most important gays. Ambassadors, activists, student leaders. If someone who isn’t on the roster of approved gays wants to make it on the guest list, they submit an application for Louis to review. It’s a very smooth and efficient system. 

Of course, it being September, they’ve received a hefty amount of applications from the new college load. Specifically Harvard, though there is some MIT and BU thrown in there. It’s not that they don’t get a lot of college kids to begin with; a good forty percent of Adrenaline’s guests are performance students at Berklee or Boston Conservatory. And Louis seldom complains, because he used to be a performance student himself, and he likes the theater and dance kids in particular, but if there’s anything he despises, it’s Harvard students. 

No matter how hard he tries to keep their filthy rich hands away, they always manage to find their ways onto the guest list. Louis doesn’t even know how they do it. It’s as if they actually got into Harvard for being  _ clever  _ or something, not just because their parents are loaded assholes. 

Sometimes, bitterly, Louis wonders if they really are members of the community, or if they’ve just snuck in to ogle and snicker, but he knows that’s impossible. In the end, it’s not his place to say if someone’s part of the community or not. He’ll just seethe in silence from his place behind his turntables. 

Zayn waves him over upon his arrival downstairs. Louis met him after he dropped out of Berklee, while he was couchsurfing before he had his own place. He was Adam’s hotter, gayer roommate who was also pursuing a career in bartending with a side-career in abstract art. Louis may have hooked up with him a couple times, too--they’ve both agreed it doesn’t mean anything, though, and they only seek each other out when they’re  _ really  _ desperate. 

Louis, tonight, however, is feeling ambitious. 

“Hungover?” Zayn greets, that same smirk Adam had been wearing sitting proudly on his face. Louis scowls at him. “Just wanted to let you know we’ve got a couple Harvard kids coming in tonight. Might wanna down a couple Advil.” 

Louis lets out a painfully dramatic deep sigh. “Will there be more than five?” 

Zayn shrugs. “Two or three, if we’re lucky.” 

“Fuck me,” Louis groans. 

“They’re people too, you know,” Zayn tells him matter-of-factly, and Louis wishes he wasn’t so attractive. 

“I beg to differ,” replies Louis miserably, dragging his feet across the floor to his platform and dropping onto his stool.

“I’m hungry,” he adds loudly from behind his stand after a solid ten minutes of scrolling through his phone, at the same time he switches on the mixer and turntables and holds one side of his headphones to his ear. 

“There are Doritos under the counter,” Zayn calls over, and Louis hits play on his deck, watching the record begin to spin and listening to the crackle of aggressive dance music begin to pulse. 

DJing was never really a set ambition for him; it just kind of happened. It’s not like he ever expected to make it big as a recording artist; he wasn’t good enough at guitar, didn’t thing he had a strong enough voice, and staying would’ve been impossible anyway. Unrealistic. His first gig was at a birthday party and hadn’t ended well--all it took was a full frat house and an uttered slur directed at him to send his anger spiraling and to destroy all the equipment he’d been saving up for for the entirety of the previous year. He still gets tremors thinking about it, sometimes. 

Once he’s confirmed everything is up and running, he steps down from the platform and accepts the bag of Doritos Zayn tosses him wordlessly. 

“I’m gonna go smoke,” he announces, not waiting for Zayn’s reply and hopping up the stairs. 

The sky is a deep, glossy blue when he steps outside. Summer’s disappearance has put him in a sour mood. A fair amount of the money he makes comes from consistent summer tips; usually, he’ll make around $80 to $90 an hour, but during the school year, it goes down to $40 to $50, with the crowd no longer consisting of generous vacationers and, instead, more tired working-class twenty-somethings. 

Of course, he never regrets not charging admittance fees. He doesn’t think people should have to pay to feel accepted. If it means he’ll live off plain bagels and work a side job at Dunkin, so be it. 

He lights his cigarette and stares at a flyer for cheap electric guitar lessons flapping in the breeze as he takes a long drag. Distantly, a street performer drawls off  _ Hallelujah _ by Leonard Cohen; a dog barks, a car horn beeps. Louis sticks the bag of Doritos in his hoodie pocket and keeps his hand there, watching as the daytime ends and the nightlife begins. A group of boys walk by, all dressed in similar khaki shorts and button-downs and boat shoes, rowdily jostling him against the wall but not even glancing.

_ Fucking Harvard brats,  _ he thinks.  _ Never had to work for a thing in their lives. _

The club doesn’t open until 11 o’clock, which is an hour earlier than most in the area, but the night usually drags on until about 2am before the party dies down. 3am on weekends, at least. Louis regularly goes to bed at around 5am or so, sleeps until noon, works an afternoon shift at Dunkin, goes back to his apartment and feeds his fish, works on his latest project, and then readies his club for the night. He knows his schedule gets... _ off, _ when he takes a boy home, but if Zayn is feeling  _ particularly  _ kind, he’ll close up for the night and let Louis leave early--that is, once the crowd has filtered out. 

Tonight, as it so happens, a guest artist will be closing. Which means Louis will be able to sneak away, and won’t have to make his imaginary lay wait until the floor has cleared. 

When his cigarette has burnt out, he drops it to the ground and crushes the stub with the toe of his shoe. His mother hated it when he smoked. She hated a lot of things about him, though. 

He shakes himself and pushes back through the pub door, nodding once at Adam before disappearing down the back stairs. 

Louis steps into a shower stall after inhaling the Doritos, blasting an obscure indie mix that probably pisses off Paul, the main bouncer who works weeknights. When Louis walks into the  _ Employees Only  _ room, the man is sipping an iced coffee and reading a magazine.

It’s half past ten when he sidles out of the back room. Skinny jeans cling to his thighs and the sheer fabric of a black muscle tank hangs loosely off his collarbones; he’s put a thin layer of eyeliner on his top lash line, which he’s been told makes him look especially fetching, and his hair has been fluffed to perfection. Zayn gives him a once over and an approving nod, and Louis retreats across the floor, swaying his hips just to make Zayn snort. 

Paul, who’s now poised by the door to man the gradually growing queue, sticks his head through the doorway and waves at Louis to get his attention. 

“Your guest is here,” he announces gruffly, pulling back the door to reveal a cheery looking man whose smile is as bright as the glittery shirt he’s wearing. 

He steps forward and holds out his hand instantly. Louis looks him over, up and down, and takes it slowly. 

“Nick,” the man greets. He’s English. “Grimshaw. You must be Louis.” 

“That’s right,” Louis acknowledges. “Nice to meet you, Nick. You’re early.” 

Nick lifts up his right wrist and checks his watch. Louis’ never liked people who wear watches; he’s always found them a bit suspicious. “Well, look at that. I am.” He laughs at himself. “No, I--I wanted to get here early before doors to meet you properly, you know, hear your set and everything! I’m pretty fresh to the scene, so I need all the help I can get, yeah?” 

Louis nods in agreement. “Makes sense. Excuse me for a moment, please.” He stalks over to his stand, swaying his hips  _ for real  _ this time because he’s like that, and turning his amp on, hitting play on a track of upbeat, pulsing dance music. When it starts blaring, the people in the queue outside erupt in cheers. 

“I, uh…” Nick has to shout over the track, meagerly attempting conversation before the doors open. “I was in Vegas for a while before I decided I wanted something more intimate, you know? The scene there is wild, I’m sure you’re familiar with it.” 

Comically, from behind his stand, Louis cranes his neck and pulls his ear forward with two fingers. 

Nick laughs nervously, but doesn’t say anything else. 

By now, the line will have extended all the way down the hallway, curved around the back and coiled back up the staircase. That’s the usual weeknight crowd. He knows better than to peek around and look, though; he’s well known enough within the community to be a person of high speculation, and poor Paul would be the one to deal with all the chaos. 

Louis walks over to the bar, right past where Nick is still standing uselessly, and snaps his fingers at Zayn, who turns from where he’s been stacking glasses and raises his brows. 

“Zaaaaaayn,” Louis begins, biting his lip and fluttering his eyelashes in that way he does. 

“Louis,” Zayn replies flatly. “What do you want.” 

“I wanna take a boy home tonight,” Louis tells him. “Can you wrap up so I can leave early?”

“Lou…” 

“It’s been weeks,” Louis says miserably. “Please? I’ll buy you dinner.”

Narrowing his eyes, Zayn scans his face. “I want a lobster roll.” 

“Done.” 

“From Castle Island.”

Louis grits his teeth. “Fine.” 

Zayn huffs, pleased. “Alright. I’ll close.” 

“Thank you, love you!” Louis blows a kiss and tugs his phone out of his pocket, checking the time. Ten minutes to eleven o’clock. The lights are still glowing fluorescent; Louis calls over a greeting to Steve, the lighting guy, who takes that as the signal to switch the blue-light on from his panel at the back wall and begin the rave-flashing that Zayn always complains about. There’s no girth to it, obviously--else he wouldn’t still be working here. 

At eleven sharp, the door swings wide, the floodgates are opened, and mounds of people begin their filing in. 

It’s easy to lose himself when he’s working. A lot of times, he’ll zone out at the rolling crowd below him, hands working mechanically, and not realize it’s 3am until the crowd starts to die down. That’s not what it’s about, though, not tonight. He’s kind of on a mission. 

His set finishes to dancing bodies and the air heavy with alcohol and sweat. Immediately, while the high off the last track remains buzzing in the misty, foggy lights, Nick takes his place, thrusting his arm into the air and putting his record on the deck. 

Louis slips into the back room, past the noise and the piled bodies. He refluffs his hair and retouches his eyeliner, changes into a less sweaty but more revealing shirt, and steps back outside just as the clock strikes midnight. 

The bar isn’t too crowded, most people having retreated to the dance floor. He slides onto a stool and flashes Zayn a grin, getting a beer put down in front of him before he even gets a word out.    
“He’s not bad,” Zayn shouts over the music, jerking his head in Nick’s direction. 

Louis shrugs, and waits. 

It’s not long before someone slides into the stool next to him, waving Zayn over to ask for a drink and leaning an arm on the counter, whirling their whole body to face Louis, and...oh.

_ Oh.  _

“Hi,” says the boy facing him, mouth tilted up in a little side smirk. 

“Hi,” Louis says back, keeping his cool despite the screaming in his brain. 

“You’re Louis,” the boy tells him. He’s English too. It sends a pulse of heat through Louis’ chest. 

“I am,” Louis answers. “You are?” 

The boy just smiles, a dimple sinking into his cheek, and doesn’t say anything. 

Zayn hands a martini over the counter, which the boy accepts without saying thank you. Louis should be offended by that. But this kid’s fucking  _ hot _ , and Louis really, really wants to sleep with him. 

He takes a sip from his glass; Louis watches his throat bob as he tips his head back. A head full of soft looking curly brown hair. His eyes are sparkly and Louis thinks they’re green. 

“I like the music you play,” the boy tells him. Louis wonders how old he is. 

“Thank you,” Louis says. “Is this your first time at Adrenaline?” 

The boy smiles again, but says nothing, simply taking another sip of his martini. 

Flustered, Louis runs his palms along his thighs and reaches for his own drink. 

“Where are you from?” Louis asks, flipping his hair out of his face and batting his eyelashes. 

“England,” the boy lulls. “Manchester.” 

Louis hums. 

“Yourself?” 

“Here,” Louis says. “I’m from here.”

“Got a place nearby?” 

_ There it is.  _

“I dunno.” He smirks, and keeps his voice teasing. “What if I do?” 

“Hm,” the boy says. “It’s your place. Up to you.” 

Part of Louis wants to ask how old the boy is; he looks young enough to be a teenager, despite the strict rule they have of 21+. The other part of him wants to take the boy home  _ now. _

“And what if I don’t?” Louis adds slowly, dragging his eyes up the length of the boy’s legs in a way that usually makes most squirm. The boy doesn’t even twitch. 

“Depends,” the boy says, and his words are long and deep and inviting. “But club bathrooms aren’t particularly...erotic places to mess around in, are they?” 

Louis very nearly chokes on his drink. After a moment in which he regains his composure, the boy’s begun to fiddle his fingers along the counter, half-smiling. 

“Well,” Louis begins, heart leaping. “My place it is.” 

He slides his empty glass across the counter along with a ten dollar bill for Zayn’s troubles, and takes the boy’s hand loosely, hopping down from his stool and leading the two of them through the crowd of pressed together bodies, ducking behind arms and weaving around mounds of glitter and fabric and rainbow capes. 

They push through the door, and Louis flashes Paul a grin before darting up the stairs and stepping into the warm midnight air. 

 

~

 

The whole car ride, Louis keeps his hand solidly resting on Nameless Boy’s thigh. 

He pretends to go unaffected when Nameless Boy’s hand goes  _ above  _ his own thigh. Really, the breath silently catches in his throat and the car lurches, which makes Nameless Boy laugh and Louis flush. He digs his nails into Nameless Boy’s skin, then--just a tiny bit, but enough to remind him who’s really in charge. 

That makes Nameless Boy’s breath hitch, too, but more audibly. Louis huffs, pleased with himself. 

All in all, the drive couldn’t go by any slower. 

 

~

 

In a deep blue room illuminated by a dim bedside lamp, they fall into bed clumsily, hands scrambling for clothes and hair and  _ skin. _

Nameless Boy has started lunging for Louis’ neck, sinking in teeth and then tongue and then repeating. He’ll be heavily marked up by tomorrow morning, so as a type of revenge he presses the boy’s back against the mattress and sucks a bruise into his collarbone. 

“You’re...so...fucking...fit,” Louis growls in between intervals of kissing. As Nameless Boy sucks on his tongue, Louis wraps his fingers in the boy’s hair, tugging and twisting until he pulls back, panting. 

“Wanna blow you,” Nameless Boy moans. “Please.” 

Louis sits up so he’s straddling the boy’s hips, splaying his fingers out over his chest. Why are they still wearing clothes? He strips off his shirt and toys with the waist of the boy’s jeans. 

“Say please again,” Louis teases, dragging his fingers over Nameless Boy’s tummy and grinding his hips down. 

Nameless Boy keens. He’s so  _ pretty _ . 

“Go on,” he encourages, tugging his hair again. 

“ _ Please _ ,” the boy whines. 

Louis swears and flips them over, leaving Nameless Boy above him to strip off his own shirt. He undos Louis’ pants and blinks up at him once, to which Louis nods back, to which the boy tugs down his briefs and swallows him down without so much as a  _ warning.  _ A  _ disclaimer.  _ Louis feels the breath punched out of him and he’s so fucking thankful for Zayn he vows to buy him as many lobster rolls as he wants. 

“Fuck, go slow, baby,” Louis breathes as Nameless Boy takes too much at once and chokes. ‘Baby’ seems to spark another wave of arousal in the boy and he ignores Louis, taking him deeper. 

The first time Louis comes, it’s across the boy’s lips and cheeks. The second time, he fucks Nameless Boy nice and slow until they come  _ together _ , shining with sweat and exhausted and floating with euphoria. 

Louis decides it’s a good night. 

 

~

 

He wakes stiff and sore in an empty bed to his phone buzzing persistently and incessantly beside his head. 

Yawning, he gropes along the pillow until he manages to press answer without looking at the ID. Zayn’s voice starts talking the second he’s through. 

“Mate, you remember that guy who ran BU’s GSA who came last month?” 

Louis clears his throat. “Mhm.” 

“He just phoned. Apparently he has a fresh batch of kids he wants to introduce to the scene. Wants to know if we can fit ‘em in tomorrow night.”

“Fine with me,” Louis sighs, stretching out his back and breaking into a smile when he feels the soreness in his thighs. “Man, last night was so good.” 

“I really don’t want to hear about your sex life,” Zayn deadpans. 

“Did you  _ see  _ the kid? God. So fit. His hair’s, like, the perfect length to pull, and his  _ mouth _ , fuck--” 

“Louis,” Zayn interrupts. “Please stop talking and get out of bed. It’s one in the afternoon.” 

Louis thinks he needed the extra hour of sleep. Maybe even  _ deserved  _ it. 

“We’re so close to Labor Day,” Louis laments, disheartened at the thought of getting up. “I just want a damn day off.” 

“Don’t we all,” Zayn snorts. 

 

~

 

If there’s anything Louis hates, it’s his fuck-ugly Dunkin Donuts employee uniform. 

That, and the fact that at 26 years old, he has to compensate for what his own career doesn’t cover by spending six hours trapped behind a counter taking people’s orders. His only perk is free, unlimited blue raspberry Coolatas, which even he gets sick of after a while. 

He always feels uncomfortable in these clothes, like he’s an entirely different person. He’s not who he’s  _ supposed  _ to be here; part of him kind of wants to cry whenever there’s a break in the line and he’s staring blankly at the iced coffee poster on the wall. Like he shouldn’t be here, he should be touring the world or performing at festivals or teaching music or  _ something.  _ It’s here where his regrets really settle in, like the constant freezing AC is forcing his reality deeper and deeper and deeper until it consumes him. 

His parents were never pleased with his decision to pursue music, especially the type of music that he was after. He wanted to sing; he wanted to engineer sounds and put together tracks and mix things. They were a little appalled when he got into Berklee and chose a major in Electronic Production and Design and a minor in Music Technology that would send him to Spain to study abroad, but agreed that while they’d contribute towards his tuition, everything else would be paid for by him. His equipment, his housing, his dorm items and his meals. 

And so he did. He paid for everything; worked two jobs off campus and one work/study job on campus, studied his ass off, only to drop out before his junior year. All because a bad breakup had tipped him over the edge and he realized he was wasting his life, working towards a goal that didn’t even exist. By then, he was already miles deep in student debt and his parents had practically disowned him for choosing a career in something they didn’t think was worth being proud of. 

That’s part of why he doesn’t charge for people’s admittance to Adrenaline. 

If he hadn’t met Adam and Zayn when he did, he doesn’t know where he’d be now. He doesn’t like to imagine. 

Sometimes, if Zayn has a break in one of his many bartending shifts, he’ll walk down to Harvard Square where Louis works and chill out with him until he has to leave. Louis thinks it’s more due to pity than anything else. Zayn was, after all, the first person he told about the breakup. It didn’t really seem like something Adam would quite understand. 

Zayn texts him at around four today, telling him he’s on his way, and a few minutes later the doorbell is clinking and he’s stepping in. 

Louis, in some instances, is a little taken aback by how out of place Zayn looks in ordinary situations. He’s very,  _ very  _ attractive, and not quite in the way Nameless Boy was. Zayn looks more off the streets of Milan or a Gucci catalogue, far too gorgeous to be wandering round a Dunkin Donuts in his skinny jeans and Doc Martens and black button-down. 

Nonetheless, Louis is glad to see him. Always. If there’s anyone Louis loves more than Adam, it’s probably Zayn. 

“It’s hot as Satan’s asshole out there,” Louis tells him frankly across the empty shop, as if Zayn doesn’t already know. 

“Sure is,” he says anyway. “Can you get me a Coolata please? And an apple fritter? I think I’m dying.” 

“Do I look like some kind of servant?” Louis grumbles, but fills up a cup anyway. Zayn pays for it in cash. 

“Adam told me he knows a few of the students coming tonight,” Zayn says conversationally. “Wants to introduce us.” 

“Why?” 

“Publicity, I guess. Get the word out.” Smirking, he accepts his drink and sips it carefully. “Not like we need to, but. Whatever.” 

“Hm,” Louis says. Zayn looks like he should be  _ modelling  _ the Coolata, not drinking it. “I thought we’d go up to Castle Island on Monday. I can buy you your fucking lobster rolls because you’re an entitled Masshole and I can work on my tan before the summer ends.” 

“Sounds good to me,” Zayn says, grinning slyly, and Louis tells himself the lay was worth it, even though he’ll be spending $20 he doesn’t have on seafood in a bread roll. 

They lounge in silence until Zayn has to return to work. That usually manages to break Louis’ regretful sulk. 

 

~

 

Louis has a Pleco Algae Eater named Little Bitch, and Little Bitch is his pride and joy. 

He bought Little Bitch at Petco on a whim, right after he bought his apartment, when he wasn’t really thinking responsibly and was so ecstatic at finally having a place to live he’d figured getting a fish would make it less of a space to live and more of a  _ home.  _

With Zayn and Adam over, they had a kind of mini housewarming party, in which, drunk, Louis had tried to stick a post-it note to Zayn’s forehead that read ‘little bitch’, but it ended up displaced, and when Louis woke up the next morning it had ended up inside the fish tank. Somehow. He still doesn’t know how. But sober Louis had figured, what better way to commemorate his new apartment? He named the fish Little Bitch, and he didn’t anticipate the fish’s lengthy survival.

Louis retreats to his room immediately upon his arrival, changing into a pair of soft shorts and a t-shirt, and digging out his laptop and headphones from the pile of papers that have collected on his desk. 

Sitting on his little sofa and working with a cup of tea in front of him, arranging melodies and laying beats and experimenting with new sounds. That’s the point in the day when he remembers how much he loves what he does. 

He heats up some leftover Chinese and works until he feels he’s made solid progress, then gets a text from Zayn. 

**_remember that kid u hooked up with last night??_ **

Louis gets a lump in his throat. 

**_…..what about him ?_ **

There’s a long moment where he holds his breath, and then…

**_:)_ **

He sends a paragraph of question marks, only to get no answer. 

Alright. Fine. 

Louis leaves at 9:00 for Adam’s pub, feeding Little Bitch a hearty pinch of fish food before stepping out the door. 

His third floor apartment has a nice view of a community garden and a playground, and if Louis squints around some buildings and trees he has a nice view of the Charles River. He wonders, sometimes, how he got so lucky with his place; it’s small, obviously, and very cramped with equipment and records and CDs, but that’s just how he likes it. 

The night is still warm from the heat of the daytime, still and silent in the air. It’s not too long of a walk. Most of the time, he’s glad he lives in the city. He’d get far too bored stuck in a small town in England. That’s what he tells himself, anyway. 

His mindset changes the second he steps into the pub. Adam, behind the counter, gives him a wave from where he’s chatting to three people sat at the bar. 

“Quiet night?” Louis calls in greeting. 

Adam laughs a little. “Lou, before you go, I’ve got some people I’d like you to meet.” 

Louis halts in his trek towards the back door. “Um. Alright?” 

The first thing Louis notices about the three people sat at the bar is that two of them are wearing identical burgundy sweaters, and one of them is wearing a black windbreaker, which Louis wrinkles his nose at. That kind of sets the scene; Harvard kids. Inwardly, Louis screams. 

It’s no surprise that Adam’s made some Harvard friends in all his time here. He does, in all honesty, run an authentic Irish pub smack in the middle of Harvard Square, a mere few feet away from Harvard Yard. It doesn’t stop Louis from being  _ repulsed  _ at the invitation to  _ meet  _ Harvard kids. 

“Lads, this is Louis,” Adam introduces. “He runs the club.” 

“Of course, we know all about that,” the first boy says airily. He whirls around on his stool and sticks his hand out. “I’m Liam Payne. Harvard Med School. Pleasure to meet you.” 

Louis thinks he’s a little too uptight, based on his fake smile and thoroughly gelled hair. “Cheers.” 

The second one mirrors Liam Payne’s music smoothly, flawlessly; his smile is definitely less fake, and he looks less put together in general, hair blonde and messy. Luckily, he’s wearing jeans--Liam, for some reason, is wearing slacks. Louis doesn’t know why they’ve both chosen to wear Harvard sweatshirts to a gay club. It’s not very appropriate. 

“Niall,” the blonde boy introduces himself as, grinning cheerily. “Horan. Good to meet you.” Louis takes note that he doesn’t spout off his department of study. Louis likes that. 

The last boy, the one in the windbreaker, turns almost  _ slowly _ , folding his hands in his lap and…

Oh. Oh no.

A nice big, fake smile shows a row of sparkling teeth, caving a dimple into the boy’s cheek. He flips a lock of curly brown hair out of his face and last night, Louis had his  _ fingers  _ wrapped in that hair, pulling and tugging as he moaned. 

Then, Louis’ eyes fall downwards, to the patch over his windbreaker’s left breast.  _ Harvard Rowing.  _

Fuck. 

“Harry Styles,” Nameless Boy who now has a name says. Louis is too busy having an internal crisis to realize the boy has just introduced himself as  _ Harry Styles _ . Harry Styles, only son of Des Styles, PhD, Professor of Medicine at Harvard Fucking Medical School. Harry Styles, known by everyone and their grandmother. Harry Styles, star rower. Harry Styles, youngest enrolled student in graduate school at Harvard University. 

_ Oh my god,  _ Louis thinks, mortified.  _ I just slept with Harry Styles.  _

As he reaches out tentatively to shake the boy’s hand, another thought hits him. 

_ Oh my god. Harry Styles is gay.  _

“Good to see you again,” Harry Fucking Styles says to him, smirking that fucking smirk. 

“Oh!” Adam exclaims. “You two know each other?” 

Harry Styles tilts his head. “I...suppose you could say that.” 

“Oh,” Adam repeats, sounding more unsure, as the breath has been caught in Louis’ throat and he’s been making a strangled sound for a solid minute. 

“I’m, um. It’s. Hi.” 

“We met at Adrenaline last night,” Harry Styles clarifies smoothly. Louis makes a small choked off noise and nods tightly. 

Harry Styles’ tongue darts out to wet his lips, and Louis nearly collapses. 

“I should, uh, get downstairs.” Louis coughs. “To...the club. Will I be seeing you three tonight?” 

“You know it!” the blonde one, Niall, says. None of them look like they quite... _ fit in _ with the rest of the scene, but, Louis supposes, that’s what Adrenaline is all about. 

He still hates snobby Harvard kids. And doesn’t want anything to do with them. 

Louis could not get downstairs any faster. He gives Paul a forced smile of greeting, pushes through the metal door painted rainbow, and immediately targets Zayn, who’s scrolling through his phone and slurping on a margarita. 

“You  _ asshole _ ,” he says. “You goddamn  _ asshole. _ ”

“So Harry Styles is good at sucking dick?” Zayn snickers. Louis buries his face in his hands and drops to the floor, splaying his limbs out face down. 

“I hate my life,” he mumbles. “I just fucked Harry Styles.” 

“I’m not totally sure what the problem is,” Zayn converses nonchalantly. “Sure, he’s a Harvard prick, but. I mean, it’s not like they’re all bad people. Harvard’s hard to get into, Lou. So is every Ivy League school.” 

“Not  _ these  _ kinds of kids,” Louis groans, voice muffled by the floor. “ _ Good  _ Harvard kids do homework and study and go to bed at reasonable hours. The kids who come to fucking gay clubs and dance the night away aren’t at Harvard because of  _ merit.  _ They’re there because of their rich-ass parents.”

“He got into Med School at, what, 20? 19?” Louis can  _ hear  _ Zayn shake his head. “Listen, parents can only get you so far. He has merit. He’s privileged as fuck but he’s also  _ smart  _ as fuck.”

“His dad is like, the fucking dean of the medicine department. Their lives  _ run  _ on money. They’ve got millions. Probably.” 

Zayn laughs. “Listen, wouldn’t it be nice to date someone with shitloads of money?” 

Louis sits bolt upright, jaw dropped. “Did you just say  _ date _ ?” 

“Listen, we could both use rich boyfriends,” Zayn shrugs. “You enjoyed the sex, right?” 

Fishmouthing, Louis gapes at him. “I will  _ not  _ be dating any Harvard pricks, thank you very much. I’m better than that. I don’t need a boyfriend anyway. I’m doing perfectly fine on my own.” 

Zayn looks a little doubtful. 

“I  _ don’t _ ,” Louis insists. “Certainly not  _ Harry Styles.  _ He can stay well away from me.” 

“He’s donated enough to attend more than a week’s worth of nights here. So.” 

Louis punches the floor, then winces at the crack in his knuckles. Ow. “You’re lying.” 

“No, I’ll show you the check. He gave us 3k. He and his buddies are on the list for a good ten days.” 

“In a  _ row _ ?” Louis says, appalled. 

“Mostly. He’s missing a couple nights.” 

Louis hates his life. 

 

~

 

All he has to do is survive Nick Grimshaw’s opening set. Then he’ll play, the crowd will dwindle, and he can go home and wallow in his own self pity in peace. 

He finds a nice corner at the bar, snug against the wall, and listens to Nick rile up the crowd. He’ll do tomorrow night as well, closing, and then a new DJ-in-training will step in and play a few nights, and they’ll repeat until the season is through. Louis scrolls through his phone to occupy himself and makes his face look as unapproachable as possible.

Of course, that doesn’t seem to stop Harry Styles from slinking up next to him and ordering a three shots, to which Louis grimaces judgingly at, to which Harry Styles raises an eyebrow at him.

“The night’s still young, Styles,” Louis accuses pointedly. 

Harry Styles smiles that fake, fake smile, nothing like the smile he’d given Louis last night. “What better way to start it off?” he lulls, voice slow and smooth and  _ dripping  _ like honey, and Louis swallows. 

He hates how attracted he is to the kid. How the  _ kid  _ isn’t really a kid, he’s more of a man, but his submissiveness is still burned into Louis’ brain, as well as a number of things; his thighs, his back, the column of his throat, his jawline, his eyelashes, his  _ mouth.  _

Louis huffs and returns to his own drink, staring at it, deflated, until Nick’s set wraps up and he has an excuse to leave the bar. Harry Styles hasn’t stopped staring at him, and he’s started to get this uncomfortable itch at the back of his neck. 

Foggy, hazy music hangs in the air as Nick steps down from the platform and gives Louis a friendly slap on the back. The crowd below him start up their cheering again when Louis steps up and puts on his headphones; it’s easy, now, after a deep breath, to ignore the burn of Harry Styles’ eyes on him, to pretend everything’s normal. As if his literal world hasn’t been turned upside down at the concept of a one night stand with a practical celebrity. 

He’s soaked through the back of his shirt with sweat by the time 2am rolls around. He can tell he’s been hard on himself tonight from the way he can’t remember what he was thinking for his whole set. His body’s been in such a state of hyper-focus he doesn’t really process the crowd seeping out until Zayn waves at him from the bar, a signal to begin the closing stage of his set.    
It’s a relief when the floor’s finally empty. The music dies down slowly, and Louis takes his time to switch off all his equipment. He and Zayn work in comfortable silence; the clinking of glasses come from the bar, where Zayn’s stacking dishes and tidying things up for the next night, and Louis takes a broom to the floor, sweeping away glitter and plastic flowers and Mardi Gras beads. At the end of the night, the only things not in disarray are the rainbow flags hanging from every wall panel. 

“That Styles kid’s been staring at you,” Zayn says after Louis puts the broom back into its storage closet. 

Louis pretends to gag and bids Zayn and Paul goodnight. 

He’s only just stepped out onto the sidewalk and turned to the right when he notices a figure leant against the side of Adam’s pub. He almost doesn’t stop. Almost. But he catches sight of the figure’s jacket--a black windbreaker--and the toe of his shoe catches on a crack in the pavement and he goes stumbling, only for the figure whose name is probably Harry Styles to take a step forward to try and rescue him. 

Louis scowls at him. “Soliciting is illegal,” he scolds, straightening his shirt. 

Harry Styles gives him a charming smile. “Was waiting for you.” 

“Creepy,” Louis says, trying to ignore the pulse of heat that courses through him. “Why...why were you waiting for me?” 

Harry Styles shrugs. “Thought you’d want a repeat of last night.” 

Louis chokes on his own spit. Harry Styles wants to bed him? Again? He’s not sure the boy knows what a  _ one night stand  _ is. “I…” 

“If you don’t, that’s fine. But…” He tucks his thumbs in his pockets and flips a strand of hair off his face. Louis swallows. “The offer’s out there. If you do.” 

That’s the problem; he  _ does.  _ Really badly. Way too badly. He’s breaking all his own rules. 

“I...” Louis repeats slowly, staring at Harry Styles’ mouth. “Don’t you have school?” God, what a creepy thing to hear himself say. 

Harry Styles shrugs again. “Does it matter?” 

Does it? Would it? 

Louis surges at the boy and kisses him hard and filthy against the dirty brick wall of Adam’s pub. He’s never been more regretful that he hadn’t driven his car. 

 

~

 

And so he fucks a mewling Harry Styles for the second time, his teeth sunk into the cleft of the boy’s collarbone. 

It’s kind of weird. Louis thinks that might be because he’s seen Des Styles’ TED Boston Talk on modern medicine’s influence on corporate society. 

 

~

 

The next evening, Harry Styles and his two lackeys are seated at the counter of Adam’s pub, exchanging light, charming laughter and clinking their glasses of beer together. They barely look old enough to  _ drink.  _

Louis despises all of them. Except for maybe Niall, who seems a little more likeable than Liam. Harry Styles, though...he’s something else. Louis wonders if Harry’s parents know what he gets up to nightly; if they approve of his gay club outings and his one night stands, or if they’re completely clueless. If they think Harry is the perfect little genius IQ son he shows himself to be during the day. If they’ve seen all the tattoos covering his arms and torso. 

When Louis enters that night and makes for the stairs, Liam Payne--who he  _ really  _ doesn’t like, he’s decided--calls out a greeting, lifting his arm in a beckoning gesture. Harry Styles is wearing a skin tight black polyester shirt that looks like it’s meant for biking or something, but Louis can see every fucking line of his six pack and biceps, even from where he’s standing. He swallows. 

“Hi, Louis,” Liam says politely. He’s so  _ polite.  _ “How are you?” 

“I’m alright,” Louis replies a little uncomfortably. Liam is watching him expectantly, and, belatedly, Louis realizes he’s supposed to relay the question. He doesn’t like the formality. “How are you?” he asks anyway. 

“I’m well,” Liam says with a kind smile. What the fuck is he doing at a gay bar? 

Louis can’t help but get the inkling they don’t quite belong here. He knows that’s really wrong of him but there’s something  _ about  _ Liam in particular--not even Niall--that rubs him the wrong way. Maybe like he’s not here for  _ himself _ , like he has a purpose here and it’s not to have the time of his life. 

“Oi,” says Niall Horan, by way of greeting. “Got a question, if you don’t mind me asking.” 

Sliding into an empty stool a couple seats away from where Liam’s sitting, Louis taps his ear and smiles as friendly as he can manage while having to avoid Harry Styles’ line of vision. Louis thinks, out of the corner of his eye, he can see a hickey he left right beneath Harry’s Adam’s apple last night. He shifts on his stool and ignores Harry’s gaze shift towards him. 

“Hit me,” Louis says. 

“Was wondering where you were from?” Niall asks. “Like. I heard you’re from Yorkshire, and I’ve got a fair amount of family livin’ over there.” 

“Doncaster.” Louis picks at his nails without thinking of the answer. “I’m from Doncaster.” 

Niall blinks in surprise. “Oh! I’ve been there a couple times. How’d you end up here?” 

“How’d  _ you  _ end up here?” Louis shoots back slyly, grinning. There’s a snort into a glass of beer; Louis glances over at Harry, whose dimple is showing but who doesn’t say anything. 

“Harvard rang, I suppose,” Niall laughs, and then Louis gets a kind of pit in his stomach and excuses himself, retreating downstairs. 

Zayn keeps waggling his eyebrows up and down suggestively, like that’ll make Louis somehow admit he’s gotten rid of his anti-Harvard bias, which he hasn’t. He still hates Harvard. He still hates Harvard brats. Harry Styles just has a really, really great mouth. And impeccable physique. And a great ass. 

Louis is so fucked. 

Eventually, when Zayn’s teasing gets intolerable, Louis puts his foot down. “I didn’t want a fucking two night stand!” he hisses across the floor, and Zayn bursts out laughing from his designated spot at the bar. “I’m fucking serious!” 

“I saw a bruise the size of my fucking hand on that kid’s neck,” Zayn says with a light laugh. “I think you wanted it.” 

Louis doesn’t have it in him to say that Zayn’s wrong. He doesn’t have it in him to say he’s right, either. 

It’s Nick’s last night playing, which means he’ll close the show. Louis has two options. He can either stick it out until the end and be there to bid Nick a good-hearted goodbye, or he can leave right after his set, preferably with a certain Harry Styles who he kind of wants to sleep with again. He knows it’s kind of his duty as the owner of Adrenaline to see the deals and payment through and make it clear that Nick is always invited back, so long as he abides by his contract not to spread word of the club to other organizations. That’s a mistake Louis doesn’t wish to make again. Minimal publicity is fine; too much, and Louis’ system falls apart. He knows of his reputation, and he knows how bad he’ll look if he has to turn away an organization that wants to make the list. There isn’t room for everyone, and Louis still needs to make money. 

Louis decides that if Harry Styles wants to go home with him again, it’s within Harry Styles’ own free will to stick around until the night is over or not. Louis has to stay. He has a business to run, despite the cute little twinks that always manage to melt his heart and get into his bed. 

He wouldn’t exactly call Harry Styles a twink, though. He thinks that’d be a bad move. 

Nick walks in at his own leisure, which Louis should take as the first bad sign of the night. It’s five to eleven and the ruckus outside is maddening and exuberant--it’s Friday night, which means things will be hectic from here until Monday morning. Nick’s hair is a little more ruffled than it usually is and there’s a slight wobble in his step. Louis tries to go unbothered. Drinking on the job for guests is technically against the rules...Nick has proven himself so far, though, so Louis doesn’t say anything. Just purses his lips and nods a hello.

It’s definitely rowdy, but even from his stage Louis can’t help but skip over the crowd to the bar where he can just see Harry Styles and his lackeys all sat next to each other. Louis loses focus after about half an hour, mind wandering dumbly to if Harry Styles ever drinks anything other than martinis, and then to why he’s wearing that skin tight sports shirt, and then his brain gets the image of Harry  _ rowing  _ on the Charles and that’s the only thing that stays in his head for a while. 

His set ends, and Nick takes over. That’s when everything kind of goes to shit. 

It’s terrible, to say the least. Nick doesn’t hype up the crowd, all his music lands deflated and defeated on the floor where nobody’s really bouncing along anymore, and Louis has to dismiss himself to the back room for a moment to recollect himself before he actually tears Nick off the stage. 

Even though Friday nights are the most exciting all week, the crowd diminishes at around two when it normally goes until four, in search of a feistier scene. Leaving early means less good word and less good word means less money. Less money...well, less money means Little Bitch dies. It just  _ does.  _

Friday night has ended too early, and it’s all Nick’s fault. Louis steps out of the back room seething, faced with a half empty bar and a drunk group of twenty-somethings stumbling out the main door singing a song with no words. Zayn gives him a look, like he knows exactly what Louis is thinking before he’s even said anything. 

Soon enough, the crowd leaves and the club empties, and Nick clumsily stumbles off the stage, not even bothering to switch off the amp before staggering over to the bar and gesturing for a drink from Zayn, who stares at him for a long time before even bothering to move. 

Louis sticks his head out the door and tells Paul that the place is empty and not to let in any stragglers, before promptly walking over to where Nick is slouched at the bar and slapping him a little roughly on the shoulder. 

“Mate,” Louis says sharply. “What’s your deal?” 

Nick is so, so drunk. What happened? Bad breakup? Well-concealed alcoholism? Louis is appalled, and Nick blinks up at him hazily. 

“What’re you on about?” Nick chuckles. 

“Your drunk ass just lost my entire fucking Friday crowd,” Louis snaps. “This isn’t the quality you’ve been giving me the last two nights. I’m supposed to pay you after this shit?” 

Nick squints and gets to his feet, pointing accusingly at Louis. “What the fuck? I signed a contract. You have to pay me.” 

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t,” Louis says through gritted teeth. “When you play at my club, you’re representing  _ my  _ business. Drinking on the job is off limits. Same goes for trying to pick up lads to take home, or using my equipment irresponsibly.”

“Come on, man,” Nick protests. “I’d never do that. We’re friends now, yeah? You know I wouldn’t try and pick up a date here.” He pauses. “I mean, I’m not a weird asexual or anything, just to clarify, but…”

Louis stops listening then, right as a surge of fiery anger courses through his chest. 

He does the first thing he can think to do, and punches Nick Grimshaw in the face. 

He knows Zayn darts out from behind the bar to try and do something, but his efforts are useless; Louis has Nick on the floor, clutching the front of Nick’s shirt with white knuckles and a racing pulse. His nose is already crooked. Louis broke it. Good. 

“I never want to see your fucking face here again,” Louis growls. “You stay far away from Adrenaline. This is no place for aphobes.” 

Louis gives Nick one last shove, and the man stumbles to his feet, making a beeline for the door. 

“Fuck,” Zayn says. 

Rubbing his hands, Louis reaches for Nick’s two-thirds full glass and takes a long gulp. “Fuck indeed,” he says, putting the glass down. “I’ll send him a check tomorrow, don’t worry.” He takes a long look around, steps towards the broom closet, and then sits down, before standing up again and turning around aimlessly. 

“Lou,” Zayn begins slowly. “I think you should go home.”

“I’m fine,” Louis says automatically, then thinks maybe he isn’t, and sits down again. 

“That asshole.” Zayn shakes his head and pours himself a gin and tonic. “That goddamn asshole.”

“Can’t believe I hired a fucking aphobe.” Louis laughs bitterly. 

“Hey. There’s no way you could’ve known.” Zayn sighs. “It’s just...like that sometimes.” 

“I don’t want anyone like that around Adrenaline,” Louis says firmly. “I...I swore I’d never let anyone like that in here, and I  _ did. _ ” 

“Lou,” Zayn repeats, tone soft. “It’s not your fault.” 

They don’t say anything for a while. Vaguely, Louis wonders if Harry stuck around, or if he’s retreated back home by now, which leads to him wondering if Harry lives in a dorm or if he lives in a mansion with his parents. He misses Harry. Harry smells nice. 

“What?” Zayn asks. 

“What?” Louis asks. 

“Harry…” 

“Oh, shit. Did I say that out loud?” Louis puts his face in his hands. “Zayn, I’m so fucking attracted to Harry Styles.” 

“I can tell,” Zayn replies boredly. 

“How is it possible for someone of his wealth and merit and... _ family  _ to be that attractive? I feel gross.” Louis flops over the counter. “I fucked a genius. Two nights in a row. What is this? Do you think we’re, like, partners now? Or is it just an extended one night stand? I don’t fucking know.” 

Zayn barks out a laugh. “It’s whatever you want it to be, Lou. Now go home. Have a cup of tea, feed your fish. Take a break. I’m beginning to think you might be a little sex crazed.” 

Louis scowls, but doesn't say anything. Zayn is only half wrong. 

Harry Styles is not leant against the brick wall outside Adam’s pub when Louis finally emerges from Adrenaline. He tries not to feel disappointed. 

 

~

 

There’s a Red Sox game droning on from the small flat screen above the bar, and Louis quietly stirs his pinky through the foam resting at the top of his beer as a group of men in cheap suits yell at the television. 

It’s six pm, Sunday. It’s been going on three days since Louis’ last seen Harry Styles, and there’s a twinge of loss every time he thinks of the boy; sure, Louis misses him, and he swears it’s not because of Harry’s smile or his dimples or his hair or his eyes or his cheekiness. It’s all because of the sex. That’s all there is. 

That’s what Louis tells himself, at least. 

Tomorrow is Labor Day, which would normally mean he takes a boy home without worrying about the consequences. Tomorrow is his day off. He can stay out as late as he wants. The problem is, he can’t think of anyone else he’d rather be with than Harry Styles. 

There’s kind of one thing left for him to do, if he wants to keep seeing Harry Styles even after his time on Adrenaline’s guest list has expired. He has to make  _ friends  _ with Harry. Get to know him. Make Harry  _ want  _ to keep seeing him. It won’t be an easy feat, he knows, and he hates himself for getting to this point of desperation, but he’s gotta live, right? He’s gotta be able to live a happy life. Maybe that life will involve Harry Styles for a while. 

Louis hasn’t seen either of Harry’s friends since Friday, which is why it comes as a bit of a surprise when Niall Horan plops down next to him at the bar. His hair is sticking out from underneath a  _ Harvard Lacrosse  _ beanie and he’s wearing a baby blue polo shirt and khaki shorts. Louis eyes his clothes with a little bit of distaste, but Niall doesn’t seem to notice. He just waves Adam over and orders a pale ale. 

“Hello,” Louis greets uncomfortably. 

“Hi, mate!” Niall exclaims cheerfully. “How goes it?” 

“Alright.” Louis shrugs, and sucks the beer foam off his finger. “Ready for a day off tomorrow.” 

Niall laughs a little too excitedly for what Louis’ just said. “Same, same. School’s a killer. Sometimes I wonder what I signed up for, ya know? Ha. The work never stops.” Adam hands Niall his ale and Niall holds it out in a cheers gesture. 

“I’ll drink to that,” Louis replies. 

There’s a light drizzle pattering outside. The weather is gloomy and dim, and the men watching the Sox game are angry and inconsolable as the other team scores a home run. Adam politely offers their group a free refill because there’s no chance Boston will win this one, and Louis listens to them begrudgingly accept and return back to scolding this batter and that pitcher for their wrong moves. 

“Haven’t seen you three at Adrenaline for the last couple nights,” Louis says. 

Niall grins. “Yeah, well. There are a lot of things to do.” 

“Indeed.” Louis doesn’t press further, but Niall keeps talking. 

“I love it here, mate. You’ve done a great job with Adrenaline. To think you did this all by yourself?” Niall shakes his head, still smiling. “It’s pretty extraordinary.” 

“Well,” Louis says, cheeks hot, and can’t think of anything else to say, so he takes a sip of his beer instead. 

“Harry’s been away,” Niall continues. “Went to London for an event with his parents. I mean, Liam and I don’t really have much of a reason to keep coming if Harry isn’t here, but I missed it. The acceptance.” 

He says it like it means nothing, like Louis’ heart doesn’t burst at his words. Then Louis’ brain catches up and he blinks in confusion. 

“What do you mean?” Louis asks. “You don’t come unless Harry comes, or…?” 

“Me and Liam are just...escorts,” Niall laughs dismissively. “Harry’s the one who initiates everything, but we kind of just tag along to make sure nothing bad happens.”

“Oh.” Louis grimaces. “So...he pays you to be friends with him.” Louis doesn’t know why he’s surprised; that seems like a completely reasonable thing for someone like Harry Styles to do, but he still feels a pang of disgust. 

Niall cackles. “No, no. No imbursement. I’m asexual, and I come by my own free will, but I wouldn’t have gotten on the list if it weren’t for Harry! He loves Adrenaline--he’s been wanting to come for ages and he’s finally twenty-one so he  _ can.  _ Liam, well. He was a little unsure because he’s questioning, you know, but he loves it too. He’s just not as...outgoing, I suppose.” 

“Oh,” Louis says again. “So...what’s Harry’s deal?” 

Eyeing him, Niall sips his drink. “He’s...not out. To anyone at school. That’s why he comes here. If that’s what you’re asking.” 

Oh.  _ Oh.  _

The Harry Styles that Louis was introduced to by Adam was not the same Harry Styles Louis took home on Wednesday night. It makes sense, now, that Harry’s a different person in the presence of people involved with his parents; why he was so open and likeable with Louis but closed off and fake with Liam and Niall. 

Louis feels awful. 

“I...I meant is he single?” Louis blurts out without thinking, in an effort to try and steer the conversation away from sad topics. Of course Harry Styles is single, else he wouldn’t have been in Louis’ bed twice now. Dumbass.

Niall blinks at him. 

“Not sure if it’s my business to be tellin’ you all this stuff,” Niall says. “But...yeah. Harry’s single as can be.” 

Louis doesn’t know why it sends a wave of relief through him. He won’t question it. 

“Of course, it’s not like his parents would... _ approve  _ of him having a boyfriend. They’re not the most accepting bunch.” 

_ Of course.  _ Of course they’re not. Louis knows that already, but it stings to hear it in words. 

“How do you get by?” Louis asks a little sadly, voice cracking. 

Niall shrugs again, limply this time. 

“Keep things to myself, I suppose.” 

It’s quite possibly one of the most horrible things Louis’ ever heard. He wordlessly raises his glass in Niall’s direction one last time, and gulps it down thickly. They leave it at that. 

 

~

 

The roads are empty and quiet, the upper highway to Castle Island breezing by an open aired salty scent of distant sea. Zayn’s third-hand teal Subaru smells like sugar packets and Dunkin coffee and dirty laundry, and his portable Sony CD player bounces in its cupholder where it’s hooked up to the aux cord, blaring  _ Do I Wanna Know?  _ on endless repeat, a Don Henley song scattered here and there to break up the drum beat, the heavy bass. 

Zayn blows a bubble with his gum, mouth caught up in a half smile. He looks effortlessly cool. Louis’ feet rest on the dash, dirty Vans thumping along to the rhythm. He’s singing along, obviously; there’s no getting sick of this song, for him at least, and Zayn’s too disaffected to care. 

Louis breathes out a slow puff of cigarette smoke, watching it wisp out the open windows like a third pair of hands. 

“Happy Labor Day,” Louis says. 

“Happy Labor Day,” Zayn echoes back. 

Castle Island’s stone fortress appears through a cloud of hazy mist, and Louis thinks of Harry Styles, thinks of him staring up at London’s foggy sky. Wonders if Harry Styles is thinking of him too, if Harry Styles misses him at all. If Harry Styles misses Adrenaline, or the loud bustle of Harvard Yard on the weekend, or if he cries for the secrets he keeps from his parents, or if he chose this life himself. 

He stops thinking about it when  _ The Heart of the Matter  _ starts playing. There are other things to occupy himself with. 

Louis buys three lobster rolls and a plastic cup of cheap Boston-brewed beer from the shop just beyond the parking lot; one for himself and the two he promised for Zayn. They eat while walking barefoot along the empty beach, sand cool and a little damp from yesterday’s rain. 

“You ever miss home?” Louis asks casually. “England, I mean.” 

Zayn shrugs and picks at a chunk of lobster, sticking it in his mouth. “Course. Would be weird if I didn’t, yeah?” 

Louis hums. “Even with things the way they are?” 

“Family’s family,” Zayn says, and it sounds a little bit like he’s directing that at Louis, more bluntly than he expects. “They do bad shit, yeah, but. I dunno. You hate your family, you get it.” 

“I don’t hate them,” Louis says quietly, even though he’s not sure quite how true it is. “I love Boston,” he corrects himself. “And Adrenaline. And...everything here.” 

“Same,” Zayn replies, and doesn’t say anything else, just looks out at the grey water rolling and rippling in the wind, which has picked up since they parked on the island not even half an hour ago. 

“I hate what they did to me, I think,” Louis says, “More than I hate them.” 

It starts drizzling soon enough, before the drizzle turns into a shower, and the shower turns into a heavy rain. 

They race back to Zayn’s car with their lobster rolls held under their shirts to shield them from the storm. Zayn has to turn the key a couple times to get the car to start, because that’s just how old it is, and before Louis can reach for the CD player to turn the volume up over the rain pattering heavily on the hollow metal roof, a song that isn’t  _ Do I Wanna Know?  _ starts crooning away from the battered speakers. 

“ _ I am not the only traveller. _ ”

“I love this fucking song,” Louis shouts, and turns the volume all the way up. 

“... _ who has not repaid his debt. _ ” 

Zayn’s Subaru pulls out of the Castle Island parking lot to  _ The Night We Met _ , and Louis kind of wishes he could go back to the night when he met Harry Styles, just to see his green eyes freshly sparkle all over again. 

“ _ I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you. _ ” 

It’s kind of funny. 

 

~

 

Harry Styles returns to Adrenaline on Wednesday night, wearing a tattered flannel shirt over a classic burgundy Harvard tee.

Louis finds him at the bar sipping his trademark martini while the guest artist, Greg, plays. He doesn’t say anything, just sidles up next to Harry and waves at Zayn for a beer. 

Harry sips his martini and doesn’t acknowledge Louis’ presence at first. 

“Back from holiday, eh?”

Harry just smiles wearily. “Holiday?” 

“Yeah,” Louis says. “Heard from Niall you were in London.”

“Hm,” Harry replies simply, and takes another sip of his martini. The music feels muffled over the sight of Harry Styles--his eyes are dimmer and his hair is flat and he looks a little less alive than he did the last time Louis saw him. 

_ “They’re not the most accepting bunch.”  _

Of course. It makes perfect sense. 

“We’re glad to have you back,” Louis says firmly. “Really.”

Harry stares at him for a moment, contemplating, before speaking.    
“Thank you,” he says finally. 

Louis gives him a big, proper, genuine smile, and tries not to be pleased at the way Harry’s eyes brighten a little more. 

(Harry Styles is also waiting for him against Adam’s pub wall when Louis emerges from Adrenaline at 3am. They go back to Louis’ together. Louis tries to pretend he hasn’t missed what they do.)

 

~

 

He wakes, on Thursday, to an almost unbearable heat pressed to his front and emanating from what seems to be the mattress itself. 

Louis opens his eyes to an early afternoon sun streaming through the window and a long body curled against him. It takes a moment for everything to sink in; he blinks once, twice, and three times, mulling over the events of last night, and finally everything slots into place when his brain recognizes the tattoos on the tanned skin he’s holding close. 

Oh, shit. Harry Styles is still in his bed. 

Every other night they’ve done this, Harry has retreated before Louis’ even woken up, leaving a cold side of the bed and a half empty glass of water on the counter. Not today, as it seems, because they’re  _ spooning _ , Louis’ front against Harry’s toned back, and their legs are wrapped around each other. 

What the  _ fuck.  _

His first instinct is to pull away, slip out from under the covers and leave Harry alone. But there’s that less rational part of him that convinces him to stay, to curl closer into the boy and drift off for another hour or so--it’s not like he hasn’t ever been late to work. That’s exactly what he does. 

When he comes back to reality, it’s to Harry Styles stirring; stretching out his long limbs and burying his face in the pillow. Louis shifts his hand from where it’s loosely folded into Harry’s chest down to Harry’s tummy and curls his toes, yawning. Harry shifts, turns his face towards Louis, and it sends this odd wave of butterflies through Louis’ stomach at Harry’s hazy green eyes, his puffy eyelids, his tangled lashes, his soft lips. He blinks up at Louis sleepily, and he doesn’t look like Harry Styles...he just looks like Harry. Small, soft, contented Harry.

“Good afternoon,” Louis greets, voice scratchy and raw from last night’s activities. 

“Hi,” Harry says. “I...hi.” 

“How’re you feeling?” 

Harry scans his face before answering. “I’m...fine. I’m good. Thank you.” 

“Good,” Louis says. He slides his arm out from Harry’s grasp and sits up, running a hand through his hair. Harry’s chest tattoos slip out from underneath the duvet. “It’s nice to have you wake up with me for a change.” 

Louis swears he sees Harry blush. “I didn’t mean to,” Harry admits. “It just...kinda happened.” 

There are too many versions of Harry Styles to keep up with. There’s smooth, smirky Adrenaline Harry. There’s the kittenish, desperate Harry in Louis’ bed; there’s the flaunty Harvard Harry with more money than he knows what to do with and good looks he knows he has. There’s the empty Harry, the one Louis looked at last night with his lonely, sad eyes. There’s the Harry Niall’s told him about; the Harry who hides things from his parents and sneaks out at night. 

There’s this Harry. Louis doesn’t really know  _ who  _ he is. 

“I can’t figure you out,” Louis blurts out.

Harry blinks. “What do you mean?” 

“You…” Louis almost forgets what he was going to say when he sees a strand of Harry’s hair curl over his forehead. “You’re so...strange.” 

“Strange,” Harry repeats, his eyes narrowing. 

“Not like that,” Louis says quickly. “You’re...special. I’ve never slept with one boy four nights. Never.” 

The corner of Harry’s mouth quirks up, and there he is--that tiny hint of Adrenaline Harry. “Is that a compliment?” 

“Yes,” Louis tells him. “It is. And...I’ve never been involved with someone like you before. You’re different. Special. I dunno. I’m tired.” He rubs a drool mark off his cheek with the back of his hand. 

“I’m Harry,” Harry says quietly. “I’m twenty-one. I’m from Cheshire, England--a really small town. Holmes Chapel. I lived with my grandparents until I was twelve, and then moved to Boston. I love cats. I eat a lot of pasta. I’m going to be a heart surgeon. I’m bisexual. Your turn.” 

Louis’ been holding his breath for a solid minute. Harry doesn’t seem tense or upset or  _ anything.  _ He just gives Louis a gentle gaze, soft smile on his lips. 

“Oh,” Louis says. “Oh. I...I’m Louis Tomlinson. I’m twenty-six. I’m from Doncaster, South Yorkshire. I have four sisters. I moved to Boston when I was eighteen to go to Berklee, then dropped out when I was twenty to start Adrenaline. I have a fish named Little Bitch. I want to make music for the rest of my life. I’m gay. My parents don’t like that.” 

Harry Styles sighs a bit, then holds out a hand. 

“Nice to meet you, Louis,” Harry says. 

“Nice to meet you, Harry,” Louis echoes back. 

Louis has no idea what just happened, but he thinks it matters a lot.

 

~

 

Harry puts his number into Louis’ phone before he leaves. Louis saves his contact as: 

**_just harry :)_ **

 

~

 

Harry doesn’t show up at Adrenaline that night, so Louis texts him a hello and a few heart emojis to get things started. He walks in practically glowing, immediately raising Zayn’s suspicions. 

“What?” he asks obliviously. 

Zayn just squints at him. 

 

~

 

It’s a bad Friday. 

Louis wakes up at eight in the morning to a fire alarm rattling the building. Clad in slippers and plaid pajama pants and a quilt wrapped around his shoulders, he stumbles down the fire escape with his neighbors, standing in the vibrant morning sun and blinking groggily at the firemen who clamber up the steps eventually. 

It’s nothing. Just some overburnt pancakes. But Louis’ gotten about three hours of sleep, and he’s grumpy and sleepy and tonight will be a late one, and by the time he finally staggers back up the steps it’s almost nine and he can’t seem to force his body back into sleep. He drinks a cup of decaf tea in the hopes he’ll doze off but resorts to downing about a gallon of coffee and mindlessly streaming ANTM reruns until he feels his brain rotting in his skull and has nothing else to do but find some lunch. 

There’s a text from Harry Styles lighting up his phone screen when he glances down for the time (it’s 1:18). 

**_hi louis tomlinson_ **

Louis stares at his phone blankly, hand frozen where he’s been spreading cream cheese on a bagel. 

**_Hello Harry_ ** , Louis types back. 

He eats his bagel anxiously, waiting for a reply, which comes only after he’s decided to get dressed, notification dinging while his shirt’s being pulled over his head. He almost falls on his face to get to where his phone is charging on his bed. 

**_how are you on this friday?_ **

Louis exhales fervently before replying. 

**_I was woken up at 8 am by a fire alarm in my building ! So I’m wonderful . How are u ??_ **

His Friday gets a little better when he sees Harry typing a response, but a little worse when Harry tells him he won’t be at Adrenaline because he has some fancy cocktail party to attend that night. 

**_don’t miss me too much ;)_ ** Harry adds right before Louis buries his face in the mattress and screams. 

 

~

 

He spends all day texting Harry. 

At first it’s light, casual conversation, and that turns into snarkier conversation, and that turns into flirting, and that turns into extensive descriptions about the shows and movies and music they like. 

Harry is incredibly likeable. Louis doesn’t know if he should credit that to the kid’s own personality or the way he was raised, but he’s really, really lovely, and Louis’ never wanted to date a Harvard med student before, but there’s a first time for everything. Zayn drops into Dunkin that afternoon while Louis’ working and he seems pleased that Louis is finally getting rid of his anti-Harvard bias, as much as Louis denies it. 

“Not all Harvard kids are homophobic assholes, babe,” Zayn tells him solemnly over a strawberry frosted donut and a frozen coffee. “Harry Styles certainly isn’t.” 

“ _ Not all men… _ ” Louis mocks, crossing his eyes and plastering a stupid look on his face. Zayn rolls his eyes. 

“Do you want a boyfriend or not?” Zayn deadpans. “Look, you haven’t been this close to getting one in, like, years.”

“Wow, pretending our relationship was nothing?” Louis teases. 

“I’m serious. Don’t fuck this up. Harry seems like a really good kid and he’s only five years younger than you and he’s rich as  _ fuck.  _ Who knows, maybe you’ll get married and move into his fancy mansion and have lots of little rich babies.” 

Louis grimaces. “Wh...why would you even. Say that.” 

Zayn grins, kisses him on the cheek, and then leaves. Louis can’t help but mull over his words; does he really want Harry to be his boyfriend? Would Harry even want to be his boyfriend? He has so many other things to enjoy, so many  _ better  _ things than Louis. 

Even as he thinks this, his phone lights up with message after message from Harry. He’s one for stupid puns, and Louis  _ hates  _ how endeared he is, how he can’t stop his smile every time Harry makes a fucking cheese joke. 

_ Date me?  _ Louis thinks desperately. 

**_what’s a cheese’s favorite kind of music? r & brie _ **

Part of Louis wants to throw his phone across Dunkin Donuts. The other part of him wants to kiss Harry Styles until his lips turn blue. 

He’s in too deep, that’s the thing. There’s no going back, not with the way he and Harry are texting each other endless, not with the way the itch to take Harry  _ out  _ is still sitting at the back of his mind. It doesn’t help much that Harry is probably the most attractive twenty-one year old he’s ever seen. But now instead of his insatiable ass wanting to have sex with Harry again, it’s something more; it’s  _ something.  _ He hopes it involves taking Harry on a date, because even as much as he’ll deny it, he could really use a fit, rich, sweet boyfriend who also is the youngest student enrolled in Harvard Medical School. 

That night, Louis enters Adrenaline a little limply because he already knows Harry won’t be there. Neither Niall nor Liam are sitting in Adam’s pub when Louis walks in and retreats down the back stairs. Zayn is playing a Spotify mix from his phone while he scrubs some glasses, his black shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He and Louis haven’t hooked up in months. It’s kind of nice to not have their relationship strained by something  _ extra.  _ Not that their friendship was ever weird, it just...wasn’t quite right. 

Louis and Harry feels right. 

The thing is, Louis can’t really picture having sex with anyone else. Not with Harry around. 

His guest act, Greg, is nice enough and knows how to keep a crowd going. He’s also extra punctual, which Louis appreciates. The night runs smoothly and without issue. Adrenaline’s attendees have a wonderful time. Everything is under control. 

And then it’s not. 

12:57am. 

Adam should be home by now, but tonight’s the night he just so happened to stay extra hours to clean up. Louis hasn’t started his set yet; he’s getting himself ready to go on, touching up his waterline with a bit of eyeliner, fluffing his hair. He walks out of the back room to Adam hurrying a few sentences to Zayn, whose mouth is open in shock. 

“What’s going on?” Louis asks immediately, stepping behind the bar.

“I…” Zayn closes his mouth, then opens it, then closes it again. 

“Something’s happening,” Adam tells him, out of breath, like he sprinted down the stairs. “I just got a call from someone, I dunno who, they said they had connections to Adrenaline? They said the...they said the police are coming. They’re shutting it down.” 

Louis’ blood runs cold. 

“What?” is all he manages to say. 

“Fuck. Okay, listen. The police have no fucking reason to shut this place down; you have all your licenses and shit, you have all your permits. So some shit has tipped off the cops that there’s illegal activity going on down here and now we need to shut everything down because people are gonna get hurt in the trample to get out.”

Louis swallows, throat dry. The music blasting is muffled, his ears ringing. 

“No,” Louis says dumbly. “That’s impossible.” 

“We’ve got to move, Lou,” Adam tells him. “You need to tell the kid on the stage to shut it down. Everyone needs to get the fuck out of here.” 

“Fuck,” Louis gets out. “Fuck. Let me think. Fuck.” 

“ _ Now, _ ” Adam warns urgently. 

“Let me  _ think _ , Christ’s sake!” Louis yells, burying his face in his hands. 

The only thing he can think is that this can’t be happening. Not to his club. Not to everything he’s worked on for the past five years. Not to Adrenaline. 

It hits him very suddenly. He is not losing this place. Not now.

Body on autopilot, he shoves through the crowd to the stage, stepping up to Greg’s side and motioning for him to take his headphones off. Greg gives him a confused look before obliging. 

“Don’t have much time,” Louis tells him quickly. “Police are on their way. We need to get everyone out. I’ll reimburse you. I’m sorry.” 

Louis shuts off the turntable and flips on the microphone. The crowd shouts out in confusion, angry and upset. 

“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt,” Louis says, voice echoing round the club. “But I have a bit of an announcement that changes tonight’s plans.” 

The crowd falls silent. 

“We’ve just been notified that someone--we don’t know who--has reported us to the police for supposed illegal activity. I, uh, hope you all know this isn’t true, as we, Adrenaline, pride ourselves in our legitimacy, but for the safety of our clubgoers, we request that you all exit Adrenaline in a timely and calm manner. Thank you.” Louis switches off the microphone to complete silence, and then the crowd begins to move, trickling out towards the door. Louis knows the fear they must feel. The world isn’t a safe place for gay people as it is. 

Louis digitally starts up  _ Do I Wanna Know? _ set to repeat to calm himself and the crowd down. He wants to cry, watching the people coated in glitter and rainbows and body paint file out through the main door. 

“I’m sorry,” Louis tells Greg again. 

Greg shakes his head. “Don’t. Don’t apologize.”

“You can go home,” Louis says quietly. “Stay safe.” 

Nodding once, Greg reaches for his backpack and tucks away his supplies, patting Louis on the shoulder before leaving. 

It’s 1:31. 

The club is empty except for Adam, Zayn, and Louis, with Paul outside the door. Louis’ hands shake. 

“What if it was a false alarm?” Zayn asks. “Or a prank call?” 

“Then we go home,” Adam says simply. 

They sit around the bar in silence. 

1:46. 

There’s a muffled conversation outside the door, and then a loud banging. Two fists, pounding. Louis almost throws up. 

“Cambridge Police, open up!” 

Zayn and Adam wait for him to make the first move. He does, eventually, sliding out from his stool and stepping up to the door, opening it slowly. 

There are two of them. The first officer’s fist is poised in the air, ready for another burst of rough knocking, and Paul is leant against the wall, arms crossed, scowling. 

“How can I help you, officers?” Louis asks pleasantly, pasting a fake smile on his face. 

“Got a report of illegal drug usage,” the first officer tells him gruffly. “Are you Louis Tomlinson?” 

“That’s me,” Louis says, trying to hide the shake in his voice.

“You have all your papers?” 

Louis nods, stepping back reluctantly to let them both in. 

“ID?” the second officer requests. 

“In the back,” Louis tells him, and he doesn’t think before fear gets the better of him and he adds, “It’s Adrenaline management only.”

Everything happens slowly. The two officers exchange a look. The first one shifts his hand to his belt. The second one narrows his eyes; he glances around at the flags hanging from the wall, the ceiling, and then steps up to a wall and lifts one to look behind it. 

“Excuse me?” Louis interrupts. “Do you have a search warrant?” 

The first one just looks at him, and the second one tears down a rainbow flag, and Louis sees red. 

“Hey!” he shouts. He doesn’t have a plan. He doesn’t have a single fucking idea in his head. That’s why, when he storms up and lays a rough hand on the second officer’s shoulder, it’s the biggest shock he’s ever had in his life when two guns are pulled on him. 

Adam starts yelling, now. Louis’ brain can’t seem to comprehend what he’s saying; there’s a rush of blood to his head and he stumbles back. 

“Get on the ground!” 

Louis doesn’t know how this happened. He can’t help but feel like he’s failed at literally  _ everything  _ when a pair of handcuffs click around his wrists and then he’s ducking his head, sliding into the backseat of a police car. 

 

~

 

Louis’ cell is small, empty, and there’s nothing to do but stare at the wall. 

The clock he can see behind the front desk says it’s six in the morning. He’s tired; his body is telling him that it needs sleep desperately, but his brain is restless and upset, anxious and unable to quit its relentless racing. 

He knows he has one call. He isn’t ready to use it yet. His fingerprint has been taken, the paperwork has been filled. All he can think about is Adrenaline, flags torn off the walls, expensive equipment broken and scattered. He wants to go home, go to bed, but going home means facing everything and figuring out how to put his club back together. He’s not ready to do that, either. 

Louis wonders what his parents would think if they saw him now, leant against the wall of a police station cell, skinny jeans dusty from sitting on the floor, running eyeliner down his face and hair too crisp with night-old styling mousse. They’d be disappointed--of course they would. It’s not like they’ve ever been proud of him for anything. 

He decides to end his own misery at seven, when the sun’s almost finished its sleepy rise. He stands up clumsily, stretching out his back and wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. Pressing his forehead to the bars, he clears his throat at the man sat behind the front desk, flipping through a magazine and sipping a coffee. 

The man peers at him. 

“Ready for that call?” he asks. His voice holds a little sympathy, as if he actually knows the kind of shit Louis is going through right now. 

Louis nods tiredly. 

 

~

 

Zayn picks up on the second ring. 

“ _ Hullo _ ?” He sounds exhausted. 

“It’s me,” Louis says, and he thinks he sounds even more exhausted. “I need a bail.”

“ _ How much _ ?” Zayn asks flatly, as if Louis’ whole universe hasn’t just caved in. 

“Eight hundred,” Louis says. “Please. I’ll give you whatever you need.”

“ _ I can’t, Lou. _ ” 

“Zayn,” Louis pleads. “Come on. Help me out here.” 

“ _ No, I mean...I can’t. Do this _ .” 

Louis’ heart drops to his stomach. “What do you mean?” 

There’s a pause where Zayn sighs and doesn’t say anything. Louis presses his forehead to the wall beside the telephone. 

“ _ This...this isn’t right _ ,” Zayn says finally.

“No shit,” Louis replies. “Someone had to have gone and reported--” 

“ _ I don’t mean...that _ ,” Zayn interrupts. “ _ I mean. That’s awful, yeah? But...mate, I could lose, like, all twenty of my jobs because of this. I can’t get in shit with the cops. I can’t get into legal stuff. I...I need to send money to my sister, I need to keep these jobs. _ ” 

“What are you saying? It’s my fault?” 

“ _ No. Of course not. _ ” There’s shifting on the other end, like he’s moving around. “ _ Just that...tonight was bad. And I need to stay away for a while. That’s all. _ ” 

“So you’re just leaving me here?” Louis exclaims incredulously. “You’re just...leaving me to find someone else to help me run my fucking club?” 

The guard behind him clears their throat. 

“ _ This isn’t just about you, Louis, _ ” Zayn tells him, with a bite Louis’ never heard before. “ _ You aren’t the only one involved in this. You aren’t the only one hurt by this. _ ”

“Adrenaline belongs to me,” Louis says. “I’ve put my whole life into this. I pay you, Zayn. The least you can do is... _ help  _ me when it’s seven am and I’m in a fucking police station for a crime I didn’t commit.” He says the last bit a little pointedly, directed at the guard watching him. 

“ _ This is fucked up, _ ” Zayn says. “ _ And I’m sorry but...I’ve got to get away. _ ” 

The line goes dead. 

Louis presses his head harder into the wall, like he’ll fall into it and it’ll swallow him whole. He lost almost everything in starting Adrenaline, and now he’s lost not only Adrenaline but his best friend, too. 

“Back to your cell, then,” the guard says. 

“Wait,” Louis says tiredly, a newfound exhaustion over him. “Please. One more?” 

“I--”

“Please. If it doesn’t work I promise I won’t give you any kind of shit, please. Please.” 

The guard opens their mouth to speak, but then closes it tightly, pauses, and nods once. 

“Thank you,” Louis says gratefully, already punching in the number. 

It rings four times, and just as Louis’ started to lose hope, the line picks up. His heart feels like it’s being squeezed in an iron grip, like all the breath has been sucked from his lungs, and the voice that answers makes his eyes well. 

“ _ Hello? _ ” 

“Harry?” 

“ _ Louis? _ ”

“Hi,” Louis says. 

“ _ What’s up? _ ” 

“Is now an okay time?” Louis asks weakly. 

“ _ No, no, it’s fine, _ ” Harry says, charming as ever. “ _ What’s up? _ ” he repeats. 

“I...am in kind of a situation. I’m...I’m at Cambridge Police Station. And I need a bail. And you’re the only person I could think to call.” 

“ _ Shit _ ,” Harry says. 

“Yeah.” Louis laughs humorlessly. “If you can’t...I’ll think of something, yeah? It’s okay. I’ll be okay.” It sounds a lot like a lie, even to his own ears. 

“ _ I’m on my way _ ,” Harry tells him firmly. “ _ Be there in ten. _ ”

Louis wants to drop to his knees and sob with relief. 

“Thank you,” he says instead. “Thank you.” 

 

~

 

Harry is wearing a satin ivory shirt. 

He looks far too prim for a place like this. Louis doubts he’s ever even been inside a police station, but he looks so confident striding in he wonders if that might not be true. 

Harry pays the eight hundred dollars without a second glance, and Louis’ cell is opened up for his release. Louis feels far too small beside him; fingers tucked into his jean pockets and hair obscuring half his vision. There’s paperwork to be signed and Louis really wishes he had a hoodie or something because his bare arms make him feel too vulnerable, especially with Harry right next to him, taller, wealthier, handsomer. 

On their way out, Harry puts his hand on the small of Louis’ back. Normally, he’d shake it off, but decides to let it slide. Just for this morning. 

Harry has a black Range Rover, because of course he does. Louis doesn’t even have the energy to feel sorry for the beautiful polished seats when he collapses into the car. 

They sit in silence for a few minutes. Louis stares at the bright blue early morning sky, sun shining vibrantly and energetically. 

“Well,” Harry says after five empty minutes have dragged on. “I need a coffee.” 

He pulls out from the lot. 

They go through a Dunkin drive through, and Harry orders both of them a hot black coffee, pulling his nice, expensive car into an empty space. There’s another few minutes of silence. Harry seems too scared to speak and Louis doesn’t know what to say. 

“Thank you,” he decides on eventually. His voice is raw and hoarse. 

“For what?” Harry asks.

“This. Picking me up. Saving me.” The last part’s supposed to be a joke, but it doesn’t sound much like one. 

Harry shrugs and sips his drink. Louis’ is growing lukewarm in the cupholder. “Wasn’t gonna just leave you there.” 

For some reason, his remark makes Louis’ eyes prickle with tears. He hugs his elbows in closer to his chest. 

“Cold?” Without waiting for an answer, Harry reaches into the backseat and pulls out a burgundy Harvard sweatshirt. Louis stares at it for a moment, Harry holding it out expectantly, and finally accepts it, pulling it over his head. It’s too big but soft and comfy and it smells like the expensive cologne he always picks up when Harry’s around.

“Thank you,” Louis says softly. His voice cracks before he’s through ‘you’, and that’s when he starts to cry. 

He looks like an idiot. He looks like a fucking idiot, demanding to be picked up for a ridiculous fine at seven in the morning, crying over a foam cup of lukewarm, plain coffee and snotting all over the sleeves of Harry’s nice, warm, lovely-smelling fifty dollar sweatshirt. It’s not cute, quiet crying, either; it’s ugly, shaking sobs, shoulders lurching with every gasping breath and tears blurring his vision until the Dunkin parking lot is just a swirl of sparkling asphalt and an endless drive-thru of morning commute. 

Harry just sits there, listening to him cry, handing him a tissue every now and then in between his violent bursts of tears.

Louis stops crying eventually, sobs fading into little hiccups. The sleeves of Harry’s sweatshirt are tear stained and there are splotches of last night’s eyeliner sunken into the fabric. 

He’ll apologize later. 

“I would ask if you’re okay,” Harry begins slowly, “But I think that would be kinda stupid.”

Louis sniffs. 

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Harry asks. 

Louis has kind of forgotten that this Harry is the Harry Styles he fucked into oblivion for four nights in a row. He seems too kind, too gentle, too real. Louis really, really likes him. 

“I...don’t know,” Louis says, voice thick with leftover tears. “God, I’m a fucking idiot.” 

“Don’t.” Harry furrows his brows, facing him fully. “You’re not. Louis. Why would you say that?” 

“Because.” Louis wipes his eyes with his sleeves. “I managed to destroy not only the club I’ve put my whole life’s work into but also my relationship with my best friend. And now I’m sitting here in your car that costs more than anything I own wearing your sweatshirt having a fucking breakdown, and--” 

His next words are suspended in the air, unsaid, because Harry Styles surges forward and kisses him. 

Louis freezes, at first. There’s no air in his lungs, and his eyes are wide and his mouth has another mouth on it and everything is confusing and too bright and then Harry puts his palm on Louis’ cheek and everything slots right into place. 

His eyes slip shut, slowly. One second he’s cold and scared and completely lost and the next he’s warm; warm with Harry’s sweatshirt and warm with Harry’s hands on him and warm with Harry’s lips on his. One second the oxygen is stolen from him completely and the next, he feels like he can finally breathe. 

Harry breaks the kiss first. He blinks at Louis through thick lashes and clear green eyes and Louis connects their lips one more time. For good measure. 

“What was that for?” Louis breathes. 

“I just.” Harry shrugs again, cheeks and lips bright pink. “I just wanted to.” 

It’s eight o’clock. Louis doesn’t feel quite so cold anymore. 

“I don’t wanna go home,” he blurts out, pinching the hem of Harry’s sweatshirt. 

Harry turns the key in the ignition, and his car’s engine bursts to life. 

“My place it is,” he says, and pulls out of the parking lot.

  
  



	2. part two

Harry’s parents’ house is lavish, expensive, and everything Louis expects it to be. 

It’s not huge, but it’s antique and beautiful, with a big back garden full of lush flowers and plants, and a spiral staircase winding up the house’s four stories. Harry introduces him to the family room as they walk in, and Louis can’t help but notice how emotionally void it all is. There are a few pictures of Harry above the fireplace (because of course they have a fireplace), and while Harry makes a point of leaving Louis be to fix up a cup of tea, Louis examines the framed pictures. There are ones of Harry as a young child; Harry smiling in a school picture, pre-teen Harry holding up some kind of certificate, young teenage Harry holding up a gavel. A younger Harry holding a golf club and smiling awkwardly at the camera alongside a man Louis immediately recognizes as Harry’s father. . There are more pictures of his parents, and far less pictures of the whole family together. 

Harry comes back with two steaming mugs and gestures for Louis to follow him upstairs. He smiles softly at the sight of Louis looking at the gavel picture. 

“I won my first Best Delegate award when I was twelve,” Harry says. “Model UN.” 

Louis hums and accepts the cup of tea, following Harry up the spiral staircase. 

There are framed certificates covering the walls; spelling bees and essay competitions and math awards and scholarships. It’s odd to him that someone so smart and well-off could find their way into a place like Adrenaline. 

“My room’s on the top floor,” Harry tells him, but Louis isn’t really listening. He’s too shocked at the amount of achievements Harry’s parents keep on their walls. 

“Your parents must be really proud of you,” Louis says. 

Harry doesn’t reply. 

Louis has a bit of a shock when Harry pushes open the door to his room. It’s nothing like the sleek, modern aesthetic of the rest of the house. The bed is made, the desk is tidy, and the curtains are open to let sunlight in, but there are also paintings hung on every square inch of wall space; nature, portraits, animals. There’s a little bookshelf holding a sizeable record collection and a light pink-- _ pink _ \--record player on a stool. 

“Holy shit.”

Harry laughs sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. 

“Is this...is this your art?” 

Harry nods. “Yeah. I...it’s just a hobby. Do it when I can.” 

“What the fuck, Harry. What the fuck? What the fuck!” 

Louis steps right up close to a painting of what looks like the Boston Harbor, a cloudy sky over blue-grey-green water. He wonders where it ends with this kid, and then realizes it won’t.

“It’s honestly nothing,” Harry says, setting his tea down on his bedside table. “Sit. Come on. You look exhausted.” 

“You’re sweet,” Louis replies, and sits on the bed beside Harry, cradling the tea in his hands and kicking off his shoes. “And I’m sorry.”

Harry frowns, tilting his head. “For what?” 

“For...this. For everything.” 

“What was I supposed to do?” Harry laughs softly. “Leave you there?”   
“Zayn did,” Louis mumbles, and he doesn’t think Harry hears, but he does.

“What?” he asks. “What are you talking about?” 

Louis laughs too, but his is bitter and humorless. “Someone reported Adrenaline. It was fine, we’ll get it sorted, but...the cops showed up, and they started tearing down flags, and I wasn’t about to stand there and watch them destroy my club, so...I non-violently put a hand on an officer’s shoulder and he really didn’t like that. So they arrest me, right, and I have one call, so I call Zayn because he’s been my best friend for five fucking years, and he’s like, ‘I can’t do this anymore’. Like it’s all too much for him or something. So he leaves me there, and the only thing I can think to do is...call you.” 

“Fuck,” Harry says, when he sees Louis tear up again. “C’mere.” He wraps Louis up in his arms, and Louis’ first instinct would usually be to pull away, but Harry is warm and smells nice and his silk shirt is soft and Louis decides he doesn’t really want to. 

They don’t move or speak for a while. It’s kind of nice to be held by someone for once. 

 

~

 

Louis doesn’t know he’s fallen asleep until he’s waking up. 

He’s alone, tucked up in Harry’s bed in his room full of paintings, a soft rock album crackling from his record player (Louis can’t get over the fact that it’s light pink). It’s the Eagles’  _ Hell Freezes Over _ . Harry isn’t in the room, but Louis can hear him talking downstairs--he’s on the phone. 

Louis sits up and rubs at his eyes. He’s still wearing Harry’s sweatshirt. The sun streaming in through the windows tells him it’s early afternoon, which means he’s slept several hours. In Harry’s bed. It should be weird, but all Louis feels is grateful. 

He lies there for a bit, listening to Harry speak. He can’t make out anything he’s saying, but then Harry’s voice gets louder, like he’s walking up the stairs, and it all clears up. He’s talking to his mother. 

“ _ No, mum. No. No, I told you I wasn’t going to do it. But mum--come on, that’s not fair! I already have enough homework as it is. No. I...yeah. I know. Alright. Fine. _ ” His voice is right outside the door, and Louis shuts his eyes immediately, pretending to be asleep. He hears the door open. 

“Alright, I’ve gotta go. Okay. Bye.”

He hears the pittering of socked feet on the carpet, and Harry winds on the song to  _ Wasted Time _ , just to make Louis cry, obviously. 

“I know you’re awake, Lou.” 

Louis blinks open one eye. “I’m not.” 

“Sure.” 

“I was asleep,” Louis says defensively, both eyes open now. 

“You were literally not.”

“Saying literally doesn’t make things more true,” Louis says. 

“Shut up.” Harry’s smiling. Louis thinks he wins this one. 

“This is a good record,” Louis says. “You have a nice collection. Loving the pink, too.” 

Harry blushes the same color as his record player. “I was raised on the Eagles. And the record player was on sale, so I had to get it. It’s my favorite album of theirs, anyway.”

“ _ Long Road Out of Eden  _ is the best,” Louis replies. “But this one...is excellent.” 

Harry sits down on the bed, handing Louis a fresh cup of tea. It seems he’ll never not have a mug in his hand as long as he’s here. That’s exactly how it is at his flat, too. 

“Are your parents home?” Louis asks, curling his fingers into Harry’s sweatshirt. 

“Got on a flight to London this morning,” Harry answers. “Can I kiss you?” 

Louis blinks at him. “I. Uh. I mean. Okay? Yes. Please.” 

Harry leans in. 

They kiss softly, slowly, with no rush. Harry’s touch is as gentle as his kiss; he takes Louis’ hand with one of his and cups Louis’ chin with his other and Louis doesn’t know what’s going on, but he doesn’t think he ever wants to kiss anyone else. Not in the foreseeable future, at least. 

“Where did you come from, Mr. Harry Styles?” Louis breathes against Harry’s mouth. 

“I’ve always been here,” Harry whispers. 

One more kiss; not quite as long, but still something. 

“I like you,” Louis says finally, when they’ve pulled apart. 

“Yeah,” Harry responds. “I mean. I like you too.” 

“Okay.” 

“Alright.” 

(They snog some more. Neither has anywhere to be, so it kind of makes sense.)

 

~

 

Louis’ flat feels empty, bare, and cold when he returns that evening. 

His fish, miraculously, is still alive. That’s probably the only comfort he gets when he walks in. It’s dark, and there’s no art on the walls or fuzzy carpet or framed pictures. There’s his record player, of course, but it’s not light pink, and his tapes and CDs and vinyls are all filed neatly into a their bookshelf but it’s not the same. It’s not Harry. 

_ Self care _ , he thinks. That’s tonight’s priority. Before he thinks of whatever legality of Adrenaline he’ll have to take care of later on. Fuck, what if he has to go to court? He’ll just have to wait and see. In the meantime, he’ll fix himself a cup of tea and watch some Netflix and try to ignore how cold everything feels now without Harry beside him. 

His plan doesn’t stick for long. He gets an email from Paul at around eight, while he’s nuking a frozen burrito and sipping yet more tea--he doesn’t want the sour taste of alcohol on his tongue, tonight. In short, it includes a detailed summary of the police report filed against him, the report on Adrenaline, and a brief paragraph of the man’s advice. He sits on his couch and gets comfortable before giving it his full attention. 

The good news is that no action will be taken against Adrenaline, and that the cops didn’t find any reason to shut it down. That’s really, really good, because Louis keeps his job. Mostly. 

Paul writes, in his email, that it’s likely the prosecutor will reject Louis’ file because his offense was fairly non-violent and he doesn’t have any criminal charges. But he has an arrest under his belt now, and Paul says that if this gets public, Adrenaline is done for, and that sends an awful spike of fear through Louis. 

He can’t lose Adrenaline, that he’s certain of. Not after everything he’s sacrificed. Not after losing his family and his home and his career. 

_ It makes the most sense to close Adrenaline for the time being while we get everything sorted out.  _

Louis rereads Paul’s words over and over. Close Adrenaline. 

Suddenly he’s eighteen, and this same fear is coursing through his chest, but at eighteen it’s different; it’s laced with excitement and readiness and nerves all at once. He’s told his family he’s been accepted to Berklee and that he’s moving to Boston, and they all stare at him, and then his father leaves the dinner table, and his mother gets that look she gets when she has something to say but doesn’t want to say it. 

They’re disappointed in him. He can tell from the look on their faces. His mother, his sisters. He knows what they’re thinking, too. That they’ve invested so much money in him and they’ve given him the best education and the best opportunities and he’s thrown it all away. And so he sits there, no words in his mouth, completely empty. It’s not like he expected their support, but it would’ve been nice, and now he just knows. He knows he’s lost them. 

So he moves to Boston. He doesn’t speak to them, or tell them he’s arrived safely, and they don’t ask either. It’s a horrible, sickening closure Louis never wanted to face, but it’s happened, and it’s over, and all Louis can do is let them go. 

(He doesn’t tell them about his grades failing, or about the crippling depression eating him alive, or about the fact that he’s not eating proper food or wearing clean clothes and he’s already miles into debt and he still has equipment to buy. He doesn’t ask for money, and they don’t give him any. His only choice is to drop out.)

Eighteen-year-old Louis is hopeful. Twenty-year-old Louis is completely and utterly lost. Twenty-one-year-old Louis has too many ideas and a ridiculous plan that just might work. Twenty-six-year-old Louis has a nightclub and a best friend who might not be that anymore and this Louis also has a boy. A boy whose name is Harry Styles. 

Louis’ never really had a boy before. Not like this, at least. 

He taps on Harry’s contact, blinking through tears, and he doesn’t even know what he’s going to say until the words are out his mouth. 

“ _ Louis _ ?” Harry says from the other end. “ _ Lou. Are...are you crying? _ ” 

“Can...can you come over?” Louis chokes out. “Please? I need you right now.” 

“ _ Okay, _ ” Harry says. “ _ I’ll be there soon, love. Don’t worry. _ ” 

So this Louis has a boy, and his boy is pretty nice. 

 

~

 

Louis watches Paul close the door to Adrenaline for the last time in a little while.

Adam is there, too. So is Harry, and he has his arm wrapped firmly around Louis’ shoulder, which Adam doesn’t ask about. They have a little ceremony, clinking bottles together and pretending to be happy, but they all know there’s a more solemn meaning behind all of it. Louis vows to firmly ignore any bad feelings. At least, as long as he has Harry’s arm around him, there’s a reason to be happy. 

He’s become a horrible sap. It’s pretty bad. 

Harry and Louis have started spending a lot of time together. Louis stays at Harry’s house when his parents are away--neither of them bring up the unspoken conversation that’s bound to happen at some point about his not-so-accepting parents--and Harry stays at Louis’ house whenever his parents are home, which isn’t that often, Louis’ learned. Sometimes they’re business-ing in London or Berlin or Moscow and sometimes they’re vacationing in Bora Bora or Mexico or Iceland. They always seem to leave Harry at home, and when Louis probes tentatively at the subject, he just says that he has school.

That’s arguable in itself, because Louis doesn’t even think he’s ever seen Harry carrying a backpack, but it’s a discussion for another time. 

There’s also the fact that Louis and Harry have had sex, like, four times, and now they’re not really doing that anymore. Sometimes Harry will join Louis in the shower and they’ll jerk each other off messily against the wall, and sometimes they’ll exchange mutual blowjobs when they’re both in the mood, but it’s mostly snogging and cuddly and particularly domestic things. Which Louis enjoys. But it’s very couple-y, and they’re not really a couple. 

Well. Maybe Louis will do something about that. 

They’re in Harry’s bed when he brings it up. There’s quiet rock playing from his record player, an Arctic Monkeys album, and the evening light is reflecting off all Harry’s paintings. His parents are somewhere in Europe, Sweden or Norway or something, and Louis’ worked all morning and afternoon. He’d picked up an extra shift at Dunkin after realizing he had no money to pay his rent, but it leaves the evening open for Harry, which, really, is all he needs. 

“Was thinking,” Louis starts. He’s wrapped in Harry’s arms above the covers, their socked feet bumping together playfully. “Maybe I’d take you out.” 

He feels Harry smile into his hair. “Yeah? Where?” 

“Dunno. Wherever you want. We could go see a movie and hold hands and snog in the back of the theater. We could get some pizza. Go to a Gucci store and touch all the expensive things.” 

“Love Gucci,” Harry hums offhandedly. “Got some Gucci glasses.” 

Louis snorts. “Of course you do, you ass.” 

“Hey.” Harry nudges him. “There’s something I’ve always wanted to do.” 

“What’s that?” 

“One of those drive in movies. In big parking lots, on those giant inflatable screens.” 

Louis laughs--he can’t help it. Harry is so helplessly innocent and sweet Louis doesn’t know how he found his way into a place like Adrenaline. “Do they even do those anymore?” 

Harry shrugs. “Please? Can we? It’d be so fun.” 

Turning his head up so their lips meet, Louis grins and pokes Harry’s dimple just to watch him giggle. “I’ll see what I can do, Mister Gucci.” 

Harry’s eyes light up. It might just be the loveliest thing Louis’ ever seen. 

 

~

 

The weather begins to turn chill.

October approaches quickly, a thousand to-dos on Louis’ list before winter comes. He wants a new job, for starters. Dunkin has become less of a stable job and more of a tiresome chore that pays terribly and hurts his back. He sends out applications from Harry’s bedroom with The Beatles ebbing softly from Harry’s record player and Harry pressing kisses from his throat to his shoulders. 

In the end, Louis picks an evening shift as a Starbucks barista just because it pays a little more and sounds a little cooler. Because Harry’s a persuasive thing and Louis’ judgement is clouded by lips on his neck, he ends up with a 4am to 7am shift as well. It sounds kind of fun, and then his first day comes and it’s not as fun, but he gets to go back home in the early hours of morning to Harry curled up in a throw on his couch, cradling a cup of tea and smiling tiredly up at him. 

(Harry has his own key now. That was totally impulsive but Louis doesn’t regret it. He also doesn’t know if that makes Harry his boyfriend or not. He isn’t ready to ask, either, because it’s been a really long time since he’s had a boyfriend, and he does not want to fuck this up.)

Their first proper date is on a Friday. 

Louis, having gotten painfully used to life without Zayn, rents a car; a beat up looking pale yellow Jeep with a dent in the bumper and a scratch in the paint. He calls in sick to work and pulls in front of Harry’s house at six o’clock sharp, honking the horn three times and ruffling back his hair hurriedly while stepping out to wait by the passenger door.

He’s wearing his best pair of black jeans, the ones with no rips, and a plain white tee with a blue denim shirt over it, unbuttoned. He’d spent far too long on his hair, resulting in a near meltdown in front of his bathroom mirror--it’s been  _ so long  _ since he’s been on a date--but then Harry steps out from the front door of his beautiful house, and hair seems like such a stupid thing to worry about when the most gorgeous boy Louis’ ever seen is standing right in front of him. 

Harry is wearing a light grey cable knit sweater, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, black jeans, these silly Chelsea boots he has an obsession with. His hair...his  _ hair.  _ He’s fucking gorgeous. Louis wants to wreck him, and kiss him until they can’t breathe, and hold his hand and stroke his hair all at once. 

He’s fallen head over heels. It’s bad. 

“Good evening, Harold,” Louis greets, opening the door to the Jeep and holding out an arm for Harry to step in. 

Harry grins so brightly the whole street lights up. He skips down the stairs on long Bambi legs and wraps his arms around Louis’ waist, smacking a kiss to both of his cheeks. “Hi,” he says, dimples popping out. Louis feels a bubble of happiness burst in his chest into tiny little sparks. 

“Hi, darling,” Louis replies. “I believe we’ve got a movie to catch.” 

Harry’s smile grows impossibly, and he kisses Louis so hard everything disappears for a moment. 

There’s a horrifying thought sitting in the back of Louis’ mind:  _ Does he really need Adrenaline? Even with all this?  _

He shoves it away, for tonight, at least. They’re both in the car, the hour long drive beginning; they’re off to somewhere near Cape Cod, a drive-in theater next to a little beach, overlooking the ocean. The movie falls right during sunset. It’s perfect. 

Harry holds Louis’ hand while he drives, Fleetwood Mac playing lowly from the aux. They don’t talk much, Harry leaning in to kiss Louis’ cheek every now and then and Louis pressing his lips to Harry’s knuckles right after. It’s not weird in the slightest. It’s really, really nice. 

“What’s your favorite song?” Harry asks while they’re driving past a row of light gray cliffs. 

“Do I Wanna Know,” Louis says immediately. 

“Why?” 

“It’s just.” Harry is staring up at him with unblinking, wide green eyes, and he can’t even stop himself from smiling. “It’s a masterpiece. It’s everything.” 

“How?” 

“The lyrics. The tempo changes, the riffs. Everything.”

“Play it for me,” Harry says. “Wanna hear what you hear.” 

Louis pauses Fleetwood Mac and scrolls through Harry’s phone, which is playing the music; he taps on the song and rolls the volume up. Harry sighs contently and closes his eyes. 

It’s like something familiar and perfect has been turned into something completely new but even more perfect; this song has always been important to Louis, but with Harry here, it feels like it means more. And Harry doesn’t let go of his hand the whole time. 

“Listen to that,” Louis murmurs towards the end of the song. “You hear it?” 

“Yeah,” Harry says. The song ends. 

“I just want my life to be like that song.” Louis keeps his eyes trained on the distant road. “It’s perfect.” 

“You’re…” Harry squeezes his hand and bites his lip. “My favorite song is Free Falling.”

Louis laughs. “Of course it is.” 

Harry makes an indignant sound. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It’s very you.”

Harry frowns at him. 

“Play it, darling,” Louis tells him, kissing his knuckles again. 

They spend the car ride exchanging songs and kisses and watching the scenery drift bye in a blur. Eventually, Louis begins to notice sand sunk into the crevices of the asphalt and at the side of the road, a sign that the beach is getting closer and closer, and Harry starts bouncing his knees in excitement. He doesn’t even know what movie they’re seeing. 

(They’re seeing Titanic. Harry’s told Louis it’s a favorite.)

Pulling onto the beach and watching Harry’s face light up is something that Louis’ going to remember for a while. The image on the big, inflatable screen is a still from the movie, rippling in the breeze, and the rows of cars are all overlooking the most beautiful sunset Louis’ ever seen. The ocean is rolling along gently, reflecting the pink and orange of the sky, and Harry leans over, grabs Louis face, and smacks a wet, loud kiss on his cheek. 

“You angel!” Harry exclaims delightedly.

There are snacks in the backseat. Bags of crisps and candy and canned soda and beer and even a bottle of a nice white wine Louis had bought impulsively the other night. Louis goes around to the passenger side to open the door for Harry because he’s that kind of gentleman, and they both lay piles of blankets over the hood of the Jeep before getting out their snacks and climbing on. 

It’s cool but not cold, a perfectly warm October evening, the bright sun from the afternoon leaving the sand and air warm. Louis cracks open a beer while Harry tears open a bag of popcorn. 

“Time does the movie start?” he asks, even though he’s already shoved a handful into his mouth. 

“Eight,” Louis replies. “It’s seven thirty.” 

Harry hums around another mouthful. 

The movie starts just as the sky begins to turn a deep blue. It’s loud, but they can still hear the gentle rushing of the waves slapping against the rocks and sweeping at the shore. Harry takes Louis’ hand when the opening credits have barely finished, and is curled into his side before even half an hour has passed. 

When Rose comes walking down the stairs in her beautiful sparkly gown, Harry shifts. “Her dress is so pretty,” he yawns, and then tucks his cheek right into the crook of Louis’ elbow. 

“You’re pretty,” Louis murmurs, kissing the top of his head. 

How could anyone mistreat this boy? How could anyone see him as just a number on a score sheet or a grade on a paper? How could his parents not know who their own son is, when their own son is as lovely as this? 

He’s so soft and sweet and kind. Louis thinks he’s the only one who’s ever seen this side of Harry. It hurts him to think that anyone could hurt Harry. 

“Don’t go to sleep,” Louis whispers. The sky is dark and littered with stars. “Jack’s about to paint her like one of his French girls.” 

“Iconic,” Harry whispers back. 

There are couples kissing around them and it only seems fit that they join in, so while Jack sketches, Harry sucks on Louis’ lower lip and traces shapes over his chest. They only stop when the ship begins to sink, and then Louis scoffs when Jack doesn’t get on the door, because he  _ clearly  _ could have fit. 

“If he could’ve, he would’ve,” Harry says matter-of-factly. 

“He didn’t even try! Look at that big ass door.” 

“Shut up, he’s dying.” 

“Listen, fuck James Cameron, I know a big door when I see one.” 

Harry tweaks his nipple and Louis pokes his dimple in return and then they’re kissing again, so they miss Rose chucking the amulet off the boat. 

Louis has had enough self control to not drink more than two beers, but Harry is definitely a little bit drunk when the movie ends to rounds of applause and they slide back into the silence of the Jeep. 

“Did you have fun?” Louis asks him, smiling as they pull off the beach and out back onto the road. 

Harry replies by throwing his arms around Louis’ neck and kissing him so many times his lips go numb. 

 

~

 

It turns out Harry is a horny drunk. 

Not that Louis didn’t kind of already know this. But Harry is lazily groping at Louis’ thigh while he drives, hand travelling dangerously close to his crotch, and it’s becoming increasingly harder to ignore. Harry starts making these tiny little noises, these little humming and grunting sounds, and Louis has no self control. Really. He doesn’t. 

“You alright, darling?” 

Harry bites his lip in that way he does and blinks at Louis, gazing at him through his long eyelashes. “Yeah.”

“Can I help you with anything?” Louis reaches out to stroke the side of Harry’s cheek, and Harry leans his face into the touch, letting out a sound that resembles something close to a purr. 

“I…” 

“Go on, baby,” Louis encourages, scratching at Harry’s scalp while his eyes stay on the road. 

“I just...really. I really thought about...blowing you...and you just look so good in those jeans...” 

Louis’ breath hitches.  _ Oh.  _

“Oh,” he says. 

Harry groans, and with a startled side-glance, Louis sees that he’s begun to palm himself through his trousers. The highway is relatively empty, of course; it’s late, nearly eleven o’clock, but Louis has this odd fear that someone will see them, even out here in the middle of nowhere. 

“Oh,” he says again. Then, “Fuck.” 

Harry’s hand moves steadily closer to the front of Louis’ jeans until he’s quite literally  _ cupping  _ Louis’  _ crotch  _ and Louis makes a choked off startled sound, foot lurching against the gas. Alright. He slows down and pulls into the next shoulder, doing a quick scan around for other cars (to which he sees none) and then swinging his leg over Harry’s lap so he’s straddling his thighs. Harry stares up at him with blown pupils and glassy eyes and wet lips, hands immediately going to Louis’ waist. 

Louis leans down and kisses him filthily. It’s a good, solid start, and if Louis wasn’t already hard, he definitely would be by now. He rolls his hips down, and Harry whimpers, and then he traces the roof of Harry’s mouth with his tongue, and Harry  _ keens.  _

“Wanna fuck you,” Louis breathes out thickly. 

“Wanna ride you,” Harry replies sounding just as desperate and sending a surge of heat shooting through Louis’ chest. 

“Backseat,” Louis instructs, and clumsily, climbs off Harry and into the second row, to which Harry follows twice as clumsy and flushed bright pink. 

Harry sucks Louis off deeply and messily with his hair tangled tightly in Louis’ grip, and Louis comes on Harry’s  _ face _ , Jesus Christ, swiping up a droplet and feeding it to Harry off his fingertip. It turns into Harry sucking on two of Louis’ fingers while Louis opens him up on three with a packet of lube from his back pocket and Harry moans brokenly into Louis’ neck. 

He rides Louis desperately, the loose white shirt Harry was wearing under his jumper falling off his shoulder and exposing his collarbones. It’s a great opportunity for Louis to mouth at his throat until they come together; Louis into the condom, Harry all over his own tummy. 

When they get back to Louis’ flat, they make out senselessly on Louis’ bed, dry humping until they both come again, this time into their pants. It should be gross. 

It’s not. 

 

~

 

Louis wakes naked, spooning a long body curled into a little ball, emitting warmth and pouting in his sleep. 

His name is Harry. 

Louis thinks he might be in love. 

 

~

 

“We’re very couple-y,” Harry observes over a breakfast burrito on a late October Saturday afternoon. They both have the day off where they can laze around in their boxers and not think about anything other than what to eat and what to watch. 

Louis almost drops his tea from where he’s microwaving a plastic tray of frozen mac and cheese. 

“I...I suppose you could say that,” Louis says, swallowing. 

“It’s nice,” Harry muses, grinning slyly. 

“Yeah,” Louis answers. “It is.” 

He’s wearing one of Harry’s shirts and a pair of joggers; somehow, a sizeable collection of Harry’s clothes has formed in Louis’ flat, just from Harry being over so much, and he’s never been the kind of sappy person to wear his boyfriend’s clothes, but Harry’s are just so comfy and big on him and they smell so nice. 

Louis may or may not be smitten. He kisses the top of Harry’s head and sets his lunch on the coffee table. 

He’s halfway through his meal when there’s a knock on the door. It’s not unusual for Louis to get the occasional visit from a postman with a new set of headphones off his wishlist or some cheap records he ordered online, and it’s even more usual for Zayn to stop by every other day, but he isn’t expecting any package and Zayn...isn’t around at the moment. He freezes for a moment, brain rushing towards  _ Zayn  _ faster than he can control, and Harry tilts his head. 

“Who’s that?” he asks casually, shoving a bite of burrito in his mouth. 

“Dunno,” Louis answers, attempting to hide the anxious waver in his voice. He pushes himself off the sofa and opens the door. 

In front of him, right behind the threshold, stands a man and a woman. The man is stout, a whiskery beard on his chin and upper lip and a balding head of gray hair. The woman is tall and slim with dark brown hair and bright, sparkling blue eyes. 

Louis’ heart stops. 

“Mum?”

 

~

 

“Hi, Louis,” Louis’ father says gruffly. 

Louis swallows around a mouthful of bile. His throat’s gone dry. 

“What...why are you here?” He can’t breathe. 

“May we come in, Louis?” Louis’ mother starts tentatively, peering round Louis’ shoulder to try and catch a glimpse of the space. She’s always been so bloody  _ nosy.  _

“What are you doing here?” Louis repeats, more firmly this time. 

“We really think it’s best that you let us in and we have a bit of a chat,” Louis’ father says, ignoring Louis’ question. He’s never actually cared what Louis had to say; why change now? Why come here after eight years?

“We’ve had a very long flight and we’re very tired,” Louis’ mother adds pitifully. 

Louis stares at here. 

He feels a hand press firmly into the small of his back, and another arm snaking around his waist. Harry. Right. Harry’s still here. His touch reminds Louis to breathe. 

“Is everything alright?” Harry asks, flashing Louis’ parents a charming smile, that one he shows people who haven’t earned his real one. 

“And who might you be?” Louis’ mother requests curtly. 

“Harry Styles.” Harry whips out a hand for the both of them to shake. They blink in startled surprise. He takes control; Louis feels like passing out with shock, and Harry’s there to bring him right back, to remind him of reality and to ground him back to earth. “You are…?” 

“Jo Tomlinson,” Louis’ mother replies, still blinking in surprise, shaking Harry’s hand gingerly, like she’s scared he’ll bite. 

“Mark Tomlinson,” Louis’ father says simply. He pointedly ignores Harry’s outstretched hand, and Harry gives him another polite smile.

“Would you like to come in? Some tea, maybe?” He’s already stepping back to clear the doorway, Louis completely pliant in his tight hold. Like he’s keeping Louis tethered so he doesn’t float away. 

“Oh, that’s quite alright,” Jo says with a wave of her wrist. “We won’t stay for long.” She steps slowly into Louis’ flat, doing a slow body turn to examine the place, frowning slightly. Mark is different; his face is already wrinkled in disgust before he even sets foot inside. 

Louis’ lunch, cold now, sits abandoned on the coffee table. He won’t be eating it now. In fact, he feels a little green, and is seriously contemplating excusing himself to go puke in the toilet when Harry guides him firmly to the sofa. 

“Have a seat,” Harry says welcomingly, and Jo’s face turns sour in distaste at the sight of Louis’ creased sofa. 

“Thank you,” she accepts anyway, seating herself and smoothing her skirt, Mark taking his place beside her. Louis wrings his hands so they stop shaking so obviously, but it doesn’t help much. 

“So,” Jo begins. “It’s been a very long time, Louis.” 

Louis swallows, throat like chalk, scraping and raw. “What’s this about?” His voice sounds distant and not like his own. Harry squeezes his hip. 

“We wanted to check in,” Mark says bluntly. “We heard you had a bit of a...situation at a certain establishment you’re involved with a few weeks ago and figured we’d fly down in case there were any legal matters that needed to be resolved.”

“Adrenaline,” Louis cuts in sharply, voice harsher than he intends. “It’s called Adrenaline. That establishment.”

“Right,” Jo says carefully. She picks at her fingernails. “It’s been a...very long time,” she says again. “We felt it was about time we check in.” 

Harry meets Louis’ eyes.  _ Do you want me to leave? _

Louis shakes his head minutely. He needs Harry here for this. 

“I haven’t asked for your check-in all this time,” Louis says. “Why now?” 

“Eight years,” Jo replies. “Eight years since we’ve last seen you. You’re our  _ son _ , Louis, and we always supported you--” 

_ Oh.  _ So she’s pulling that card. Louis’ blood boils. “You never supported me,” he snaps. “You forced me into a career I didn’t want and then abandoned me when I needed help. You didn’t give me any money. Do you even know I’m not at Berklee anymore? Do you even know how  _ old  _ I am?” 

Politely, Harry rises from the couch and excuses himself to the other room. Louis doesn’t blame him. The space beside him is cold and empty. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mark dismisses. “We got all your Berklee notices; it was never meant to be, your whole music thing you had going on. And now...a nightclub? Really?” 

“I worked my ass off for Adrenaline,” Louis spits. “I sacrificed everything. Who are you to say anything, anyway? What do you care? I’m not under your roof anymore; I’m an adult. I don’t need my mother and father here to look after me, I have lots of connections and a high school diploma, in case you forgot.” 

“You got  _ arrested _ ,” Jo says, appalled. “No child of ours will--” 

“I’m not your child,” Louis interrupts. “I stopped being your child when you sent me to Boston for the first time.” 

Mark rolls his eyes. “Don’t tell us you’re still upset about that, son. We’ve always done what’s best for you, and you couldn’t see it at the time, but you should know better now. Better than throwing away your IQ and your grades at some gay club getting high in a bathroom!” 

“Hey!” 

Harry steps out from the room he’s been hiding in. His face is flushed pink, and his eyes are a little wild, but Louis thinks he himself might pass out so he doesn’t worry. Just sinks a little further into the sofa. 

“Don’t speak to him like that,” Harry reprimands. Mark and Jo blink at him in surprise. “He’s a musician, and an activist, and he’s the founder of one of the most amazing organizations for minorities in this country. Anyone with eyes could recognize that.” Harry meets Louis’ desperate, miserable gaze. 

“My apologies, Mr. Styles, but this is a conversation between Louis and his parents and--”

“I won’t sit back and listen to this,” Harry says firmly. Louis thinks he loves him. “Louis is a human being and you must respect the career he’s made for himself.” 

Jo’s eyes narrow. “I’m not sure your father would approve of a gay club so close to his campus--perhaps he’s worried of illegal activity?” 

“My father is the Dean of Harvard Medical School. He has much more pressing things to worry about. I think you should go, Mr. and Ms. Tomlinson.” 

Jo’s mouth falls open, making an indignant little sound. “We’ve only just got here!” 

“Louis and I have business to attend to,” Harry tells them curtly, stalking over to the door and pulling it open. “If you wouldn’t mind.” 

Mark shakes his head. “Louis, you have such upperclassmen associating with you and you don’t even use your damn smarts to find yourself a wife and a nice home, for Christ’s sake!” He stands up anyway, tugging Jo along with him. 

“Once again, my  _ boyfriend  _ and I have business to mind.” Louis’ stomach flops and he thinks he almost throws up, right then and there. “If you’d please let us be. Thank you.” 

“This isn’t over, son!” Mark announces right before Harry closes the door on him and Jo, locking it firmly. 

Louis is sitting on the sofa, hands laying loosely on his thighs, staring helplessly up at Harry. He’ll fix this, won’t he? He’ll fix everything. His eyes are kind of a little bit full of tears, so he sticks his chin up, stopping them from falling. Harry pads softly over and sinks down beside Louis on the couch, wrapping him up tightly in his arms, pressing his face into Louis’ hair. 

A sob, without his consent, rips its way from Louis’ chest and out his throat. This isn’t right. This isn’t supposed to happen. Not after Louis’ built this life for himself, away from his parents. They can’t just come in and ruin everything. 

Louis buries his face in Harry’s shirt and takes ten long, deep breaths. He smells so much like home it hurts a little bit. Not Louis’ old home, not England; like a new home. One he wants to be in for the rest of his life. 

“Let’s go to bed,” Harry says gently. “Rest for a bit. Then we’ll talk.” Louis knows that, of course, they’ll need to talk about this. It’s inevitable; they’ve talked about everything except their pasts, their families, they’re histories. It’s time, but only after a nice nap where they can both forget everything and not think for a bit. 

Harry leads Louis to the bedroom, curling him up in a hug before laying down against the pillows. Neither of them let go from each other, and Louis is just on the edge of dozing off when he remembers. 

_ Boyfriend.  _

_ Boyfriend. My boyfriend. I’m his boyfriend.  _

Louis hides his face deeper into Harry’s shirt, smiles slightly and secretly to himself, and then falls into a restless and fitful sleep. 

 

~

 

Revealing his painful, horrible, aching past to Harry should be hard. 

He should cry, and he should be  _ anguished,  _ and it should be one of the most difficult things he’s ever done, but the truth is, once he starts speaking, it’s impossible to stop, and his chest just keeps getting lighter and lighter and the feeling is so wonderful he doesn’t  _ want  _ to stop. 

Louis digs through his files for a piece of paper he hasn’t bother to search for in years. Finding it sends a pang through his chest, and showing it to Harry is even worse.    
Harry stares at the paper for a long, long moment, eyes wide with confusion. He doesn’t understand. Louis still doesn’t, if he’s honest. 

“ _ This hereby certifies that Louis William Tomlinson has successfully completed the Pre-College Program at Harvard Summer School, _ ” Harry reads, furrowing his eyebrows. “What?” 

“You read it right,” Louis tells him. 

“You went to Harvard Summer School?” Harry asks, jaw dropped in shock. 

“Don’t look so surprised.” Louis manages a grim smile. “I may not be a full time student but I’ve done my time.” 

“You...Lou. That’s amazing. What course did you take?” 

“Economics and finance. Parents wanted me to be a businessman.” 

Harry’s face grows a little more tense, and he flips the certificate back and forth as if some explanation will generate itself from doing so. “Oh.” 

“Yeah. I...well. They wanted me to do a lot, but I didn’t really want to do any of it. One of those things was sending me to summer school when I was fourteen--” 

“Fourteen?” Harry squints. “This says pre-college?” 

Louis just gives him another pained smile. 

“I was always advanced for my age, you know? Got good grades, whatever. They made me test my IQ and I got like, 130 or something. And that little number made me being a child impossible to my parents, so they thought the earlier I got into Harvard, the better, because the faster I’d get my degree and my PhD and a good job and make lots of money and marry well. A woman, of course. Nothing else would do.” 

Harry starts picking at his nails, staring down into his lap, his slight nodding the only sign that he’s listening. 

“So I go to Boston, and this whole time, I’m telling them I’m miserable. That I don’t want to be a fucking businessman, finance and business just happened to be something I was good at, and all I want to do is go to school and play guitar and write songs and mess around on GarageBand. But that didn’t work for them, and because I was the oldest, they gave me everything, and this was my one chance to venture out into the world, so I went. 

“Teenage boys are really mean,” Louis says slowly, “Especially when you’re almost four years younger than all of them, and you talk really high pitched, and you wear tight clothes with lots of patterns and spend half an hour styling your hair and keep a diary. And when your suitcase is pink and blue striped, not solid black, and you hang your wrist when you talk. They don’t like that.” 

Louis watches Harry swallow. He doesn’t say anything. 

“So they do everything they can to make your life horrible. They hide your things and they slap your arse because ‘you like it, you fag’ and call you the worst names you can think of. Through it all, I kept my scores up, not just because my parents would’ve been pissed, but because I couldn’t let them find out I was being bullied because I was gay.”

“Oh, Lou,” Harry whispers, shaking his head. 

“I went home, and the next year, instead of filling out my Harvard application, I came out. At first they kicked me out, but after a couple weeks they let me back in if I promised I’d grow out of that phase. I told them I would so I’d have a place to live, and because I seemed so emotionally distressed, they gave me another year until I had to apply to Harvard. I didn’t apply to Harvard, though, because I remembered how awful those boys were to me. I applied to Berklee College of Music.”

“That’s why you DJ,” Harry sighs. “And why you run such a successful business. Adrenaline.” 

Louis presses his lips together and nods. “And that’s why...I don’t like Harvard. And why I kind of hated you when I found out who you were.”

Harry takes Louis’ hand and squeezes it. He opens his mouth, then closes it, sighing again.

“I’m sorry,” Louis says. “For everything. For dragging you into this.” 

“No,” Harry tells him. “Don’t be. I...I understand you.” 

Louis tilts his head. 

“My parents don’t know I’m bi,” Harry blurts out. Louis’ breath hitches. There it is. “They’re homophobic, and I think if they ever found out they’d kill me, but I wanted to go to Adrenaline because I felt so safe there. So thank you. For that.”

“I’m so sorry, H,” Louis chokes, throat aching with the familiar need to cry.    
“No. Please don’t say sorry. But...people at Adrenaline, none of them know who I am. That’s why me and Niall and Liam were so safe there, because nobody recognized us. Nobody would be able to tell our parents. They’re all...the same. You know.” 

“I know.” 

“I never wanted to become a doctor,” Harry rushes to get out, and Louis stares at him, stunned. “I wanted to be an artist. But they always told me how terrible it would look for the Dean of Harvard Med School and another Harvard professor to have a son who didn’t even go to Harvard. I did everything they asked me; I did Model UN, and spelling bees, and math tournaments, and debate, and I did rowing, too, because when you’re at Harvard and you’re of...high status, you just have to row. I never once complained. But...sometimes I wish I had.” 

“C’mere,” Louis says, and pulls Harry into a hug. His heart hurts; like, physically, hurts. There’s a horrible ache in his chest, like he and Harry are sharing all their pent up pain only the other can understand. 

“You’re so brave,” Harry continues, muffled into Louis’ shoulder. “You’re so much braver than me. You took your life into your own hands, and I’m sitting here at twenty one years old and I have nothing for myself. Everything belongs to my parents--even all my certificates, they aren’t mine. I never wanted them. My friends were all made because our parents are friends. I don’t have anything.” 

“You have me,” Louis replies. 

Harry stops talking; just breathes lightly into Louis’ skin. 

They’re okay. For now. 

 

~

 

The two of them sleep like rocks, not waking once or even stirring until it’s far past dinnertime. 

Louis thinks it’s because of the immense weight that’s been lifted off their chests. It’s easy to sleep when there’s not an awful pit in his stomach from hiding so many things from Harry; Harry knows, now, and Louis knows, too. Everything is set right. 

It doesn’t strike Louis until around three in the morning. Usually, he’d be at Adrenaline, wrapping up the night and beginning his slow walk home, maybe having a smoke, but instead, he’s wrapped up in bed and wrapped up in Harry Styles, a glass of water beside his bed and his room neat and tidy. (Harry is kind of obsessed with organization, and because he spends so much time at Louis’, he’s taken on Louis’ cleanliness as his own responsibility. Louis doesn’t deserve him.)

When he finally realizes, he sits bolt upright, jostling Harry half-awake. The boy blinks up at him through the dark in sleepy confusion, lips in a pout. 

“Whas goin’ on babe?” Even as Harry speaks, his eyes drift back shut. 

“I know how my parents found out I got arrested,” Louis says, dumbfounded. 

“How?” 

“Zayn fucking Malik.” 

Louis kicks off the covers and leaps out of bed, pulling on a pair of joggers over his boxers and a hoodie. Harry is still staring at him blankly, eyes drooping, the duvet pulled up to his chin. 

“Where are you going?” 

“To talk to Zayn and punch him in his fucking face,” Louis tells him, pulling on his socks and stepping into a pair of slides because he’s barely conscious enough to walk, let alone lace up some sneakers. 

Harry sits up, switching the light on. “Wait. Babe, sit down. What are you doing? It’s, like, three am.” 

“I need to go see Zayn,” Louis repeats.

“It’s literally raining and pitch black outside,” Harry deadpans. “Come back to bed. We’ll talk about this in the morning.” 

Louis glares at Harry, hand frozen at the doorknob. 

“Come on, Lou,” Harry encourages, voice softer now. Louis sighs and kicks off his shoes, crawling back into bed. He can hear the rain pattering against the window; it sounds heavy. He doesn’t even have a car. Harry starts stroking his hair, and Louis tucks his face into Harry’s armpit. He’s wearing a loose white t-shirt--normally he sleeps naked, but the weather is finally getting colder with November approaching. It smells nice and feels soft and Louis inhales slowly. 

“You’re so tense,” Harry coos, prodding Louis’ back with his fingers. “Gonna age prematurely. C’mere.” He turns Louis around so that he’s leaning back against Harry’s chest, sat in between his splayed legs. Then he starts squeezing Louis shoulders; massaging them gently but firmly, careful and knowing. All the while he’s pressing little kisses into Louis’ hair and neck. 

“I…” Louis forgets what he’s going to say. 

“Let’s go back to sleep,” Harry hums, yawning. He gives Louis’ right shoulder a last kiss. “Wake up tomorrow and then I’ll drive you to see Zayn, alright?”

Louis could put up a fight. He could insist on leaving for Zayn’s right now. Instead, he sinks further into the mattress, into Harry’s hold. 

“Okay,” he says, feeling very, very small. 

Harry leans over and switches off the light.    
“Boyfriend,” Louis adds in something barely more than a whisper, right after Harry pulls the duvet over them. Harry tenses instantly, then uncoils just as quickly. Louis can feel him smile. 

“Boyfriend,” Harry echoes, and they fall asleep together. 

 

~

 

The next day, Louis feels a little more sane, but he still insists on being driven to Zayn’s apartment across town. Sat in Harry’s expensive-smelling Range Rover, he figures it’s about time they set things right. He doesn’t want five years of friendship washed down the drain, not like this. If Zayn doesn’t want him anymore...well, that’s that, Louis supposes, but if he doesn’t try he’ll regret it for the rest of his life. 

“How do you know it was him?” Harry asks doubtfully. 

“Because he’s the only person in this country who knows me and also has a connection to my parents. Our families both come from England, our families both kind of disowned us for our career choices. And our...attraction to dick.” 

“Hm,” Harry says. He drives the rest of the way silently. 

Outside Zayn’s building, Louis shuts down. His brain freezes, he forgets the whole speech he’s planned out, his hands go clammy. He’s about to tell Harry to turn around, but Harry is already opening the passenger door at him and offering a weak smile. Louis wishes he were strong enough to say no to that face. 

“Do you want me to come up with you?” Harry asks. Louis leans back against the car, and Harry hooks his fingers into his belt loops. 

“I…” Louis stammers. “I think...I need to do this alone. If that’s okay.”

“Okay,” Harry nods. “Give me a ring if anything, yeah? I’ll be right outside.” 

“Okay,” Louis repeats. 

“Perhaps...okay will be our always,” Harry giggles. 

Louis shoves him away. “You  _ dork. _ I’m leaving now, boyfriend.” 

“Okay, boyfriend.” 

Despite his clammy hands and clenching stomach and crippling nerves, Louis can do absolutely nothing to hide his grin. 

 

~ 

 

It takes ten minutes for him to work up the courage to knock on Zayn’s door. 

Every time he holds his fist up to the wood, he backs out. He’s not sure why he’s so terrified to confront the person who used to be his best friend, but it probably has something to do with how scared Louis is of losing Zayn once and for all. If this goes badly, it’s over. 

He knows their relationship hasn’t been easy. In the start, they dated, because they had too much in common not to try, and though the breakup was mutual, it wasn’t sunshine and flowers. It put the both of them in a month-long slump, not speaking to or looking at each other, and it took Adam practically knocking their heads together for them to make up. 

Also mutually, they started seeking each other out for a hookup when work got too stressful. Louis always expected it to put a strain on their relationship, but it seemed to make it stronger. He wonders if that’s why Zayn has stopped trying to make amends; because Louis has Harry now. 

He steels himself with a big inhale, and knocks twice on the door. 

The man who opens it...well, Louis knows it’s Zayn, but it doesn’t really look like Zayn. His skin is pale and sunken and gaunt, like he hasn’t slept in  _ weeks _ , and his hair is sticking up every which way and his clothes are rumpled and unkempt. He looks like death, but he still has the energy to scowl when he sees Louis. 

“Well hello to you too,” Louis rolls his eyes sarcastically. 

“What are you doing here?” Zayn asks accusingly. 

“Because you’re a bitch,” Louis replies.    
Zayn sighs and goes to close the door. Louis sticks his foot over the threshold. 

“I know you told my parents about me getting arrested,” he says. 

“What are you talking about?”

Louis scoffs. “So you’re just going to pretend you don’t have access to all their contact information and know exactly where they live?”    
Zayn sighs again, shaking his head. “You seem to think that I’m a heartless asshole. I wouldn’t sell you out to your parents.” 

“You  _ are  _ a heartless asshole for doing just that and you’re even worse for pretending you didn’t. Now let me in.” 

“Why should I do that?” 

A pang of remorse shoots through Louis’ chest. “Because. I’m your best friend, you piece of shit.” 

Staring at him for a long moment through squinty, judgy eyes, Zayn finally opens the door wide enough for Louis to slip through. His flat is as it always is, a little messy, some kind of organized chaos, and it smells like cat hair and McDonald’s fries. It’s welcoming and homely. 

Zayn’s black cat, Luna, weaves around Louis’ legs in that way she does so that Louis bends down and scratches behind her ears. She mewls happily; of course she remembers Louis. Zayn watches him with an unreadable expression. 

“You miss me, lovely?” Louis coos, and Luna purrs. 

“I don’t know why you came,” Zayn says. 

Louis gives him a look. “I told you. Because you told my parents--” 

“I didn’t tell your parents shit. You’re not here because of them.” 

“Yes I am!” Louis says indignantly. 

“If you were, you wouldn’t be petting my cat.” 

“I love your cat.” 

“Louis,” Zayn says flatly. “What happened?” 

Stroking down Luna’s back, Louis presses his fist to his temple. There’s a headache forming there. “My parents came to my flat,” he says quietly. “And they told me they’d come because they’d heard I’d been arrested, and my dad said something about me being too lazy to get a job and a wife, and Harry told him off, and they left.” 

“Harry?” 

Right. He doesn’t know. 

“Harry and I are...in a relationship. We’re together. Now.” 

“Oh,” Zayn says. 

“I...I think I’m in love with him.” 

“Oh,” Zayn repeats. “Does he...did he…?” 

“He knows everything now,” Louis says. “And he told me about himself, and we’re okay, but...I guess what I’m trying to say is you can’t force me to be friends with my parents again. It’s over. We’re done.” 

“Louis, I didn’t contact your parents.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“I  _ didn’t.  _ And, you know, it’s kind of bloody selfish of you to assume that I just wanted to get back at you for almost ruining my career. You’re still bitter about me not bailing you out?”

“You were my best friend and you were  _ supposed  _ to help me. If you were arrested I wouldn’t wait a fucking second to be right by your side. But you left me there, with nothing, after everything we’ve been through, because you were scared.”

“God, you’re naive!” Zayn bursts out. “You think the whole universe revolves around you. Newsflash, Louis Tomlinson, you’re not the only person who’s been disowned. You’re not the only person who moved to a new country and had to make a living for themself. You have an amazing life, don’t you realize that? You have a job you love and so many people who look up to you, and you get to DJ and make music and you live in one of the most amazing cities in the world, and you’re still over here complaining about your past. It’s time to fucking move on! Life is shit, and it doesn’t care about us, so you might as well pull your damn self together and go appreciate the fact that you have a boyfriend who probably loves you right back and stop hiding from the world.”

Because Louis is a childish shit, his brain centers right on ‘ _ a boyfriend who probably loves you right back _ ’. He doesn’t say anything at all. 

“I did not contact your parents,” Zayn continues. “I didn’t bail you out because if  _ my  _ parents found out what I’d gotten involved in they’d intervene and if they found out I’m a bartender I’d be their biggest disappointment.”

“How the fuck did my parents find out, then?” Louis asks numbly. 

Zayn looks away awfully suspiciously. 

“Zayn,” Louis says. 

“I don’t know,” Zayn starts slowly, “But I think I might have an idea of who tipped them off...and who told the cops about Adrenaline.” 

Louis gets goosebumps all up his arms. “Who?” 

Zayn gives him a long look. “...Nick Grimshaw.” 

There’s a moment of shocked confusion, and then, somehow, it all slots together in his head. Nick’s disgusting comment, and Louis banning him from Adrenaline. His bitterness at losing a good job. He would report them out of pettiness, and because Louis doesn’t have a great reputation with the police, they’d come and investigate. Nick would get back at Louis. But it doesn’t explain why or how Nick knew to contact Louis’ parents.

“How would he know my mum and dad?” Louis asks.    
Zayn bites his lip and breaks eye contact. “Maybe because...he kind of asked me about your history, and I told him a little bit?” 

“You  _ what _ ?” 

“He was trying to hit on you,” Zayn admits, blushing, “And I thought you really needed a boyfriend, so I told him a bit about where your family’s from, and how you’re...a hard worker, because you were kicked out at 18.” 

“What the  _ fuck _ ?” 

“I swear I was just trying to help!” Zayn holds his hands out in surrender. “Just...you’ve been so lonely, and I thought if you guys worked out, you’d be a little happier. I didn’t know that you and Harry were...a thing, or else I wouldn’t have done it.” 

“You  _ asshole. _ ” Louis’ face feels red with anger. “I can’t believe you’d do this to me. My love life is none of your business.” 

“It is when you start getting terrible depression due to crippling loneliness,” Zayn tells him frankly. 

“Why didn’t you just ask to sleep together?” 

“Because I’m not your boyfriend. That’s Harry.”

Harry is his boyfriend. Harry probably loves him. Is this what he needed all along? Is this what he’s been waiting for? Someone to hold, and someone to care for, and someone to say I love you to? It doesn’t seem far off from everything Louis’ been dreaming about since he moved to Boston.

“You’re an ass,” Louis says. “But I would really like to be best friends again. Because I miss you.”

Zayn takes a step towards him, crossing his arms. 

“I miss you too, you son of a bitch.” 

Louis doesn’t feel a hint of sheepishness when he pulls Zayn into a hug. He’s just relieved. 

(He’s also planning on murdering Nick Grimshaw, but he’ll save that for another day.)

 

~

 

“Is everything--” 

Harry doesn’t have time to finish his sentence before Louis has him pinned against the car, sucking on his tongue while Harry makes a little surprised noise but responds almost instantly. 

Louis slides his hand up the back of Harry’s neck, gripping his hair and  _ tugging  _ so that he makes a tiny whimpering sound. 

“Let’s go home,” Louis says quietly, breaking the kiss. “Wanna fuck you. Hard.” 

Louis watches Harry swallow, and then nod quickly, desperately. “Yeah,” he breathes out. “Please.” 

Louis drives, because Harry is a little bit shaken and won’t stop subtly attempting to palm his crotch through his jeans. “No touching,” Louis instructs after a moment, and Harry  _ listens _ , letting out these soft high-pitched whines. So he gets off on that. Interesting.

He doesn’t want to think about anything right now. Not Nick Grimshaw. Not his parents. Not starting Adrenaline up again. He just wants to  _ be  _ with Harry right now; just exist alongside him for a while, the two of them, alone and together. 

They park in the driveway of Harry’s empty house, and Harry looks so lightheaded with arousal Louis considers carrying him, then realizes Harry is almost six feet and full of muscle and there are three flights of stairs to walk up. 

“Lou,” Harry whines. 

“Come on, baby,” Louis tells him, and gets out of the car. 

The two of them stagger up the stairs, Harry abandoning safety to smash his lips against Louis’ before they’re up to Harry’s room. Louis’ certain he jostles more than a few framed certificates. 

“Lou,” Harry moans again, when Louis pushes through the door and nudges Harry back against the bed, crawling over him and straddling his hips. Louis tugs off his own shirt, then pulls at Harry’s. “Louis.”    
Something about the way Harry says his name sends a wave of heat washing over Louis, so strong he almost tips over. He loves him. He loves Harry. Louis loves Harry. 

It’s just right.

“What if,” Louis says, tracing Harry’s lips with his fingertip, “I bossed you around a little bit. How would you feel about that?” 

Harry moans so long and low that Louis sits back, startled. 

“Yeah,” he nods fervently, breathless. “Please. Louis.” 

“Are you sure? You’ve gotta be honest with me, babe.” 

“ _ Please _ ,” Harry groans, louder. “Wanna...wanna call you daddy.” 

Louis chokes on his own spit and coughs twice, blinking hard, suddenly so hot he feels like he could pass out. It’s something he’s never thought about--definitely something he’s never encountered with another partner, and it’s something he never realized he  _ wanted  _ until now. 

There’s sunlight bouncing off Harry’s hanging paintings, turning the room yellow and blue and green and pink. The lights are soft and warm, and everything feels perfect, and Louis wants to live in this forever. 

“Okay,” Louis says. “Yeah. You can.” 

“Kiss me?” Harry asks, and Louis does. 

Louis runs his fingers over the fine hair on Harry’s lower stomach. “Peach fuzz,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. “Soft.” 

Harry runs his palms over his nipples and sighs. 

“Gonna blow you, but don’t want you to come, okay?” Louis tries gently, coaxing Harry’s jeans down his thighs. It isn’t until his trousers are down to his ankles when Louis hears it; so soft and tiny it almost goes unnoticed. 

“Okay, daddy.” 

_ Fuck.  _

Louis swallows him down to high-pitched moans and whimpers, Harry fisting the sheets up frantically and thrashing his legs so much Louis has to pin him down with his free hand. He seems to like that a lot, and says  _ daddy  _ again, choking out something that sounds like a desperate sob when Louis shifts his hand down to probe at Harry’s dry hole. 

“Fuck,” Harry croaks. “I’m gonna come.”

“Hold it,” Louis instructs, throat raw, and Harry whines. “Know you can, baby.” 

“Can’t,” Harry cries. 

“Shh,” Louis soothes, and stops touching Harry for a moment so he cools down. Louis watches his breath even out, watches his throat bob while he swallows. “You alright, kitten?” 

Harry moans at the endearment. “Please touch me. Daddy.”

Louis reaches for a packet of lube in his back pocket before kicking his jeans off. Harry starts slowly jerking himself off, and the mere sight of him is so obscene Louis feels like he could collapse. 

“No touching,” Louis tells him. Harry’s so hard it must feel impossible, but he  _ does  _ it, worrying at his lip as he pulls his hand away. “Good boy.” Harry flushes all down his chest, rosy pink at the praise and practically beaming. Praise kink, daddy kink. It never ends with him. 

When Louis starts fingering Harry open, he’s so loud and responsive it’s unreal, but Louis decides to take a different approach than his usual ‘letting him be loud’. He runs his fingers over Harry’s lips again, and gently, giving him a questioning look to which Harry moans, slides three fingers into Harry’s mouth, grinds his hips down against Harry’s crotch, and twists the hand in between Harry’s legs. Harry gasps, tenses, and comes untouched all over his tummy, Louis’ name on the tip of his tongue. 

“Fuck,” Louis breathes out, pulling out his fingers. 

“I’m sorry, Lou,” Harry whispers once he’s recovered, thighs trembling. 

“That’s okay, baby,” Louis says, feeling like all the oxygen has been sucked from his lungs. “You’re so good. So pretty.” Harry absolutely  _ glows  _ at Louis’ words, blushing furiously and sinking further into the mattress. 

“Can again,” Harry slurs. “For you.” 

Louis raises an eyebrow. “You sure, darling?”

Harry nods. “Wanna.” 

So Louis stretches him out, and then fucks him hard and deep from behind, with three fingers slipped inside Harry’s mouth massaging his tongue while he sucks on them greedily. Harry  _ begs _ Louis to come across the laurel tattoos on his love handles, so Louis pulls out, rolls off the condom, and jerks off onto Harry’s skin. Harry’s so turned on after that all it takes is a few strokes for him to come again, adding another load to his soft belly. 

Louis collapses beside Harry on the bed panting and sweating and smiling, and Harry rolls onto his side so they’re facing each other. 

“Jesus, you’re so fucking fit,” Harry sighs, running his palm down Louis’ chest and hooking his foot over Louis’ calf. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Louis tells him. 

Harry reaches over for a tissue and wipes off his stomach, and then curls up into Louis’ front, tucking his face into the crook of his neck. “Thank you.” 

“What for?” Louis strokes the back of Harry’s head. His hair’s growing longer and longer, nearly to his shoulders, curly and bouncy. 

“For indulging me,” Harry replies quietly. “And for everything else.”

“You’re lovely,” Louis says. 

Harry grins, and nestles himself further into Louis’ chest. 

_ I love you _ , Louis thinks. 

 

~

 

They awake abruptly to a car door slamming outside and voices at the front door, echoing all the way up to Harry’s attic bedroom. 

“What’s that?” Louis asks stupidly, voice thick with sleep. His muscles are sore and aching, and he yawns. Harry sits bolt upright, eyes wide. 

“Fuck,” he says. “Fuck fuck fuck shit fuck.” Harry leaps out of bed and sprints over to the door, bolting it tightly. “Fuck.” 

Half-asleep, Louis drags his eyes over Harry’s long, naked body, sighing and scratching at his chin. “Hm?” 

“My parents.” Harry squeezes his eyes shut, looking mortified. “They’re home. Early.”

“Thought we had the house to ourselves?” Louis asks, confused. 

“We did.” Harry stalks over to his dresser, throwing on a nice dark blue cable knit sweater and digging through his drawers. “They’re supposed to be out for another several hours, but they’re home in time for dinner, which means we’re supposed to be having dinner  _ together _ . Fuck. Get dressed. Louis!” 

Harry is whisper yelling, and Louis slinks up behind him, wrapping an arm around Harry’s waist and groping his ass with the other. 

“Now is not the time!” Harry smacks his thigh lightly and pulls on a pair of boxers. “Get dressed, you ass. My parents can’t know you’re here.” 

“Why not?” Louis asks. Begrudgingly, he puts on his t-shirt. 

“Because…” Harry trails off. Louis smirks. 

“If they ask,” Louis says, “I’m a friend of a friend, over to help you with an assignment.” 

“What kind of assignment?” Harry asks, looking appalled. 

“An assignment that involves extensive knowledge about electronic music?” Louis suggests. 

“I go to medical school,” Harry says flatly. 

“Then say I’m just a friend. I won’t lie to your parents, love. I’m proud of what I do.” 

Harry looks close to tears. “They already suspect I’m not straight; I can’t tell them I have a friend who runs a gay club, they’ll kill me.” Distressed, he starts trying to pull on a pair of slacks while standing up, making him topple into Louis. “Maybe you can sneak out? I’ll distract them?” 

As if on cue, a yell sounds from downstairs. “ _ Harry! We’re home! Are you up there, sweetheart?”  _

“I’ll be down in a moment!” Harry calls back, having already moved onto socks, while Louis still stands there, only half clothed. “Lou. Please get dressed. I’ll lead them to the other room and you can sneak out the front.” 

“Alright, alright,” Louis consoles, sliding on his skinny jeans. Harry looks so well-educated and put together, Louis feels a little wrong standing so close to his nice outfit. He slips on his shoes and Harry holds a finger to his lips, opening his bedroom door and beginning down the stairs, Louis following a few paces behind, keeping his footsteps as light as possible. 

“ _ Hi, Harry _ ,” Louis hears from the flight up when Harry turns the corner to greet his mother. “ _ You’ve been studying? _ ” 

“ _ Yeah, mum. How are you? _ ”

“ _ I’m well, thank you. James will be over in a few minutes to begin supper; it’s just the three of us tonight. _ ”

“ _ Okay _ ,” Harry says. Louis starts. His voice sounds very, very small, and very, very helpless. Nothing like the Harry Louis knows. 

Their voices dissipate into the next room, and Louis takes that as his cue to leave. He tiptoes down the rest of the stairs, turns the door handle, and--

“Excuse me?” 

Louis freezes, blood running cold, and whirls around to face the man he instantly recognizes as Desmond Styles, Dean of Harvard Medical School. 

He’s shorter in person, with reading glasses perched on his nose and a round, balding head. Louis’ seen his picture plastered everywhere, and now he’s standing in front of the man, and he’s completely speechless. 

“I, uh. Hi,” Louis stutters. 

“Louis!” says Harry’s voice, back in the same room. He turns the corner and smiles charmingly at his father. “Hi, dad. That’s Louis. He was just leaving.” 

Of course, now’s the moment when Harry’s mother turns the corner. Desmond Styles’ is wrinkling his brows in confusion, raking his eyes up and down Louis’ unpresentable outfit wearing an expression Louis can’t decipher. 

“Oh, Harry, dear, I didn’t know you had a friend over!”    
“Louis was just leaving,” Harry repeats. It’s obvious his parents don’t notice, but Louis does--the pleading, desperate look in Harry’s eyes.  _ Leave.  _ It stings like rejection, even though Louis knows it’s not. 

“No, absolutely not!” Harry’s mother rushes forward with a woosh, holding out a perfectly manicured small hand. She has Harry’s face shape, Harry’s eyes, Harry’s lips, Harry’s nose, Harry’s dark hair, and she’s wearing a beautiful floral dress. “Anne Styles, lovely to meet you.” 

“Louis Tomlinson.” Louis shakes her hand. It’s now when Louis realizes how he must look, hair wild and standing up, cheeks still pink from sleep. The only thing he can think is  _ your son just called me daddy.  _ “The pleasure’s all mine.” 

“It’s so wonderful to have one of Harry’s friends over!” Anne exclaims in delight. “Louis, will you be staying for dinner?” The way she phrases it makes it seem like Harry doesn’t bring friends home often. Louis doesn’t blame him, but it still makes his chest ache. 

“I think I should be going,” Louis says, eyeing the way Harry’s shoulders tense. “I wouldn’t want to intervene on your family meal.” 

“Oh, don’t be silly.” Anne waves her wrist. “You  _ must  _ stay. Our chef is preparing Beef Wellington.” 

Their  _ chef _ ? Jesus Christ, they have a chef. Harry blushes visibly. 

“Well…” Louis says reluctantly. “I suppose. If it’s not too much trouble.” Anne claps once happily, and Desmond Styles sets down a pile of mail on a table by the door. He nods passively at Louis and then retreats up the stairs. 

“Come sit,” Anne tells Louis, leading him into the extravagant sitting room. “May I get you something to drink?” 

“Oh, no, that’s fine,” Louis tells her, sitting down on the sofa carefully. Harry perches next to him, face pinched. Louis just wants to squeeze his shoulders and give him a kiss and watch him relax. “Thank you, though.”

Anne smiles pleasantly and seats herself on the couch across from Harry and Louis, folding her hands in her lap. 

“So, Louis,” she begins. “I hear you’re English from your accent. Where are you from?” 

“South Yorkshire,” Louis replies. “Doncaster, specifically. Moved here around eight years ago.” 

“Oh! What brought you to Boston?” 

“School. I went to Berklee.” Louis searches Anne’s face for her reaction; she blinks once, in surprise, then scans Louis’ outfit again, and then nods intently. 

“What was your major? And what do you do now?” 

“Mum,” Harry says. He looks a little green. “A lot of questions, don’t you think?” 

She gives Harry that same pleasant smile. “I’m just curious, dear.” 

“That’s fine,” Louis says. “I majored in Electronic Music Production and Design. I didn’t make it to graduation, unfortunately--things got complicated and I dropped out, but I still DJ and produce full time. I love it.” Harry’s grown tense; Louis can feel it even from the few inches separating them. Anne sucks in a visible breath, maintaining her smile, though it looks a little strained now. 

“Oh,” she says. “You didn’t graduate?” 

“No, but it was alright,” Louis answers nonchalantly. “I learned everything I needed to know. Degrees, in the electronic music world, at least, aren’t really needed to make a living and name for yourself.” 

Out of the corner of his eyes, Louis watches Harry nibble at his lip until it begins to bleed, his fingers curled into his thighs, created sharp dents in his slacks. It’s now when they hear the front door open, a short, round man in his thirties smiling brightly at the three of them.    
“Hello, James!” Anne greets, standing up. James, their chef, takes off his coat and they peck each other on the cheek. She ushers him away to the kitchen, leaving Harry and Louis alone. 

“Didn’t know you had a chef,” Louis says playfully, nudging Harry in an attempt to cheer him up. Harry doesn’t reply. He looks almost  _ frightened.  _ Louis lowers his voice. 

“You alright, baby?” 

Harry raises his eyes to meet Louis’ and he nods once, hunching his shoulders as if he’s trying to make himself smaller.  

“Are you--”  _ Afraid of them _ , Louis means to ask, but he’s too late, as Anne comes fluttering back into the room, this time with Desmond trailing behind her. 

“Louis,” Anne says, approaching the sofa. “Please, allow me to introduce you to my husband, Des.” Desmond automatically holds out a hand, like he’s been instructed to, and Louis stands up and shakes it. Desmond sits down on the couch beside his wife, then. 

“Louis was just telling me how he’s went to Berklee and works as a DJ,” Anne says pensively. 

“That’s right,” Louis says, offering Desmond a grin. He doesn’t do anything to respond, just nods again at Louis in acknowledgment. 

“So, what do you like to do besides...DJing?” Anne asks, swallowing thickly, face transforming into half grimace, half smile. 

“I’m, well, I’m an activist,” Louis says without thinking, and Harry’s hands clench into fists, and Louis  _ remembers.  _ Fuck. 

“Oh!” Anne blinks in surprise. “What for?” 

Louis wants to reach out and grip Harry’s hand terribly. “Equal rights,” Louis replies smoothly, and leaves it at that. 

“That’s lovely! Isn’t that right, Des?” 

“Yes, yes,” Desmond says, the only sign he’s listening. 

Anne launches into a long speech about her friend who works for women’s rights club in a wealthy, western Massachusetts town, and goes on for so long that by the time she’s done, James the chef is calling out that dinner is served.

Louis trails back with Harry while Anne and Desmond go into the dining room, catching him by the wrist and facing him. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, quietly but firmly. Harry’s still nibbling at his raw lower lip. “Baby,” he whispers. “Stop that, you’re bleeding.” 

Harry lets his lip fall and sighs. He doesn’t say anything, just nods, and Louis wonders if it’s always like this around his parents. If he’s always this worried and anxious and tense. 

“I…”  _ I love you.  _ Louis almost slips up. “You’re amazing,” he says instead, very, very softly, and Harry offers a tiny smile before heading into the other room. 

The dinner is so extravagant and so delicious Louis contemplates hiring his own private chef for a moment. He tries to stay as quiet as possible to ease Harry’s concerns a little bit, but Anne won’t stop asking him questions; she seems extremely intrigued by Louis referring to himself as an activist, despite acting a little  _ repulsed  _ by his music career. Louis has a strong feeling they value academics far over arts. 

They make it through the meal, and Harry practically leaps out of his chair as soon as Desmond stands up from the table. Des hasn’t spoken much to Louis at all, only contributing the random grunt here and there in vague acknowledgment, but he doesn’t seem unpleasant--in fact, he seems far more genuine than Anne does.

“I think I’ll drive Louis home now,” Harry says quickly, setting his napkin on the table. His plate is only a third finished, whereas Louis’ is clean. “It’s getting late.” 

It is. The sky is dark early now, with November only a few days away, and it’s chilly, the air crisp and damp with constant rain. Louis gets up from the table. 

“Are you sure?” Anne asks, brows furrowed. “We’d love you to stay for dessert.” 

“It’s late,” Harry repeats. “Are you ready to go, Louis?” 

He barely calls Louis ‘Louis’ anymore; it’s always ‘Lou’ or endearments like babe or love or the occasional  _ angel  _ which always sends Louis’ stomach up in butterflies. Hearing him say it in front of his parents is nearly painful.  

“I’m ready,” Louis replies. “Mrs and Mr Styles, thank you so much for this beautiful meal. Tell your chef thank you as well.” 

Anne’s face lights up with Louis’ words. “Of course, dear. You’re welcome back any time.” 

She just seems so  _ kind.  _ How could someone so sweet treat her own son like he says she does? 

Louis thanks her and Desmond again, then Harry puts his coat on and they step out of Harry’s beautiful, warm house together into the cold night air. 

Neither of them say anything until they’re sitting in Louis’ car, the heating blasting over both their hands. When Harry speaks, his voice is raw and breaks like he’s about to cry. 

“Thanks for staying,” he croaks, and Louis can see his eyes glisten with tears right before they start to fall. 

“Baby,” Louis says, shocked. Harry crying is probably the worst thing he’s ever had to witness in his entire life. His tears start to fall and they just leave these wet tracks down his face and his face crumples and he’s completely silent aside from a sniff every now and then. It’s devastating. “Harry. Darling. Don’t cry, love.” 

Harry pulls his sleeves down over his hands to wipe at his tears. He takes a deep breath and puts the car in reverse, clearing his throat before pulling out of the driveway. 

“I just...wanna go somewhere else,” Harry says, voice cracking. “Anywhere but here.” 

Louis puts a hand on Harry’s arm. “Let me drive, darling.”

Harry brakes and gets out the car, Louis doing the same, and Louis just starts driving. He drives in a random direction, no idea where he’s going until they get there and he’s pulling up in front of an old 60s style diner called  _ The Daisy Eatery _ . 

“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” Louis says, gripping Harry’s hand. His shoulders are shaking, like he’s trying to contain his sobs. “We’re gonna go in that little diner there, and I’m gonna get you a milkshake and a plate of fries, and I’m gonna hold your hand over the table and we’re gonna talk about whatever you want. And we’re not leaving that place until you’re smiling.”

Harry sniffs and wipes his nose with the sleeve of his jumper. 

“Alright, darling?” 

Harry nods. 

Louis runs a hand over the boy’s hair, kisses his temple, and gets out of the car. 

They get a little table for two, Harry’s hair fallen over his eyes and his hands hidden behind his sleeves, Louis with a hand on his hip. Harry shrugs when Louis asks what kind of milkshake he wants, so he orders chocolate for them both with whipped cream and a cherry on top, and two plates of fries. 

“Lemme show you something,” Louis says once their food arrives. Harry is staring at his milkshake blankly. “You take the fry,” he explains, “And you dip it in the milkshake. And you eat it.” He sticks it in his mouth and makes a face, and Harry grimaces, but the corners of his mouth turn up. 

“Try it. I dare you.” 

Harry shakes his head, wrinkling his nose. 

Louis dips a french fry in his milkshake and holds it out to Harry. Harry looks at him, looks down at the fry, and then opens his mouth, leans forward, and bites the fry out of Louis’ hand, arms still folded. Louis watches him chew and swallow. 

“Thoughts?” 

Harry shrugs again, but he’s suppressing a smile now, eyes still puffy from crying. He bites his lip. 

“Told you,” Louis says, grinning. He pokes Harry’s slowly forming dimple. “So. Was thinking we should go to Six Flags. If we go during a weekday it’ll be less crowded and we’ll have all the rides to ourselves. You ever been on a rollercoaster, darling?” 

Harry nods, lips twitching. 

“Wonderful. Six Flags it is. And the beach. Have you ever been to the beach in the wintertime?” 

Harry shakes his head, wide eyed. 

“It’s beautiful. There are these, like, sheets of ice that wash up on the sand, in peak January. When it’s freezing cold. And the sand is coated in snow, but you can see the whole ocean because it’s so clear; no blinding sun. I’ll take you there. Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Harry echoes quietly, watching Louis intently now from behind his little curtain of hair. 

“A lot of places I wanna take you,” Louis tells him, taking his hand over the table, as promised, and rubbing his thumb over Harry’s knuckles. “So many places we’ll go.” 

“Can we…” Harry clears his throat, voice raspy. “Can we go to Maine?” 

“Why Maine?” Louis asks, laughing. 

“An art museum I wanna see,” Harry replies softly. “I’ve...I never go to art museums.” 

“Guess we’ll have to visit every single art museum in New England,” Louis announces frankly. “I’ll add it to the list. Where else?” 

Harry scans the room with his bright, green eyes. “I wanna go to New York City with you.” 

“You never been?” 

“I’ve been, but…” Harry squeezes his hand. “It’ll be more special with you. All the sparkly lights. We should go at New Years and stand in the big crowd and...and kiss when the clock strikes midnight.” 

“I’m in love with you,” Louis blurts out. 

Harry goes completely still. 

_ Fuck _ , Louis thinks, terrified.  _ You idiot. You’ve ruined everything, Louis Tomlinson. _

Harry is watching him with those deep, gorgeous eyes, lips pink and soft and kissable, cheeks pink and warm, eyelashes so long they’re grazing his browbones. His hair is bouncy and curly and chestnut brown, and his jumper is snot-stained and smells like Tom Ford cologne and his slacks are wrinkled and his socks are mismatched, and he has a genius IQ and he’s a child prodigy and he goes to Harvard Medical School and he’s a painter and Louis knows he sleeps on his tummy, and he pouts when he wants something, and the way he giggles when he’s happy, and Louis knows how he sounds when he’s about to come and how he bites Louis’ lip when they make out, and he drives an expensive car and he lives in a mansion and he has a private chef and a pink record player and he loves old music and he loves keeping things organized and he loves beautiful things, and he drinks fruity cocktails and martinis, and he’s scared of his parents and he clings to Louis like Louis means everything. 

There’s a split second where Louis regrets what he’s said. 

Then, “I’m in love with you too,” Harry says, wearing the most beautiful, glowing smile Louis’ ever seen in his entire twenty six years of life, and Louis doesn’t regret a single goddamn thing. 

 

~

 

Louis has never, ever been in love like this. 

He’s never been so in love his stomach erupts in butterflies whenever a boy walks into the room, whenever a boy looks at him. He’s never been so in love that merely watching a boy do  _ anything  _ seems like the most fascinating thing in the whole universe. Louis has never had a sky full of stars above him, or the sunset over the water glistening in front of him, or a crowd below him chanting his name, and only wanted to look at the boy beside him. Louis has never been devastated to see a boy cry; Louis has never slept with a boy tucked against his chest, breathing softly with his hair fanned around his soft, golden face like a halo. 

Louis probably has no clue what love is. 

But he’s never had a Harry before. 

 

~

 

“You’re the most incredible person I’ve ever met.” 

“I love you, I love you, I love you.” 

_ I love you _ , spoken between chaste kisses to Louis’ collarbone.  _ I love you _ , whispered into the column of his throat.  _ I love you,  _ as Harry kisses down his stomach. 

“I love you,” Louis sighs, biting into the back of his own hand. “I love you, I love you so much.” 

“I love you,” Harry moans. “Fuck, I love you.” 

Everything is perfect. It’s perfect! Louis wants to take to the streets and tell everyone how lucky he is, make them jealous with the amazing boy that’s in love with him. 

_ “Harry Styles is the most perfect person in the whole universe!”  _ Louis screams from a rooftop in his mind.  _ “I am in love with Harry Styles, and Harry Styles is in love with me! Take that, everyone who ever doubted me, because I only need him!”  _

“Perfect,” Louis whispers into Harry’s mouth instead, before he leaves Louis’ flat at midnight. “You’re perfect.” 

“I love you,” Harry whispers back, before tearing himself away from Louis. 

Louis falls asleep with a smile on his face. 

 

~

 

He doesn’t think things could get any better at this point, if he’s honest. 

Everything is wonderful. Louis is in love with Harry, and Harry loves him right back, and he and Zayn are back to being best friends. It’s not that he’s forgotten about Adrenaline, he’s just been trying not to think about it too much, for fear of a horrible disappointment. He’s kind of been avoiding checking his mail, too, but with both Harry and Zayn on his case now, it’s impossible for him to be neglectful. 

Zayn and Harry have an official meeting, and immediately hit it off. Louis’ a little jealous. They’re cracking jokes while Louis goes through a pile of unread mail that’s build up in his postbox. It’s lovely that his best friend and boyfriend are getting along, Louis just kind of...well, he wishes he were more involved in Harry’s life. He wishes he knew what went on at school, and he wishes he could go to campus and greet Harry after a long day. He wishes Harry would bring his homework over so they could sit quietly and coexist, but Harry seems to want to keep school separate from Louis. Louis wishes he could meet all Harry’s friends, but Harry seems to want to keep that separate, too. 

Harry’s happy, though. That’s all that matters. 

Louis is so distracted by Harry’s cackle-laugh and Zayn’s slow chuckle he almost misses the letter from the Cambridge Police Department. He pauses on it, flips it over, squints at it for a couple seconds, then tears it open. 

 

_ To Mr. Louis Tomlinson,  _

_ We are writing to inform you that you have been cleared of all legal charges following your arrest on 09/25. You have been issued a fine of one hundred dollars for physical actions against a police officer. “Adrenaline Nightclub” on 28 Main Street, Cambridge, Massachusetts, will be allowed to reopen after a five day period.  _

_ Thank you for your patience.  _

_ Cambridge Police Department _

 

“Holy shit,” Louis says, to which Zayn and Harry fall silent. 

“What is it, babe?” Harry asks, face immediately creased with worry. Louis is so fucking in love with him. 

“Adrenaline’s clear. I’m...it’s clear. We’re reopening.” 

Harry’s face breaks out in a huge smile; Louis doesn’t even have time to see the Zayn’s reaction before Harry is lunging at him so he collapses back into the couch, hugging him hard and tight and smothering Louis’ face with his overgrown curls. “I’m so happy for you, babe,” Harry says, muffled into Louis’ neck. 

Over Harry’s head of hair, Louis sees Harry, smiling slightly at the sight of them. They exchange a knowing look. Everything’s gonna be okay. 

 

~

 

It’s Saturday night, the first of December. 

Louis is decked out in his best club clothes. The tightest black jeans he owns, with rips in the thighs and the knees, and a mesh black top with nothing underneath. There’s glitter on his cheekbones and eyeliner on his lashline, and his hair is swept over his forehead, and he’s buzzing with energy. It could be any other night, and there’s a moment where Louis thinks he’s dreamt up the past three months entirely. He wonders what his life would be like if Harry Styles had never found his way into Louis’ club, his bed, his heart. Wonders if he would change everything if he could; if, maybe, he could fix his life, and still be his parents’ son, if he’d be in England, or if he’d be at Harvard. Wonders what his life would be like if he hadn’t come out at eighteen, if he’d hidden his feminine mannerisms from the boys at Harvard Summer School. If he’d be this happy.

It’s almost the same. Then Harry slinks up beside him, kissing his cheek and grinning up at him with sparkling green eyes, and Louis knows he wouldn’t go back and change a thing if it meant he’d get to be with Harry forever. 

Louis faces Harry and swipes gently at the glitter on Harry’s high cheekbones, thrown on in a rush before they’d left that night. They can hear the queue outside; it’s loud, and buzzing just like the adrenaline under Louis’ skin. 

“You ready?” Louis asks him. 

Harry smiles and nods. “Gonna tell Niall and Liam we’re together. Bet Niall will pass out.”

“Why would he pass out?” Louis laughs. 

“Because you’re famous,” Harry says matter-of-factly. Zayn snorts from the bar. 

Louis scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Shut up, you twink,” he teases, slapping Harry’s ass playfully. It’s easy because of how much taller than Louis he is. 

“I’m right,” Harry purrs, nuzzling into Louis’ neck again. Hands grope Louis’ ass as payback, and Harry starts sucking at Louis’ throat, because he’s like that.

It’s almost eleven o’clock. Adrenaline will open, and Greg, the DJ from the night of Louis’ arrest, will open, before Louis plays at one. Then, he and Zayn will close together, and the three of them will go back to Louis’ house for a celebratory slumber party. 

“No dry humping in front of me,” Zayn warns. “If this is gonna work I better not see either of you jizz your pants or I’m quitting.” 

10:45 comes and goes, and Greg arrives, starting up his music. Harry is watching Louis with those shimmery eyes in fascination while Louis meticulously arranges his equipment. 10:55 hits and they’re all waiting with bated breath, and very, very suddenly, it’s eleven o’clock, and the floodgates are opened. 

It’s instantly loud, deafeningly so, and crowded, and bustling with people decked out in glitter and rainbows and six-inch heels and body paint. Louis feels an immense sense of pride. These are his people. This is home for him, and for Zayn, and now, for Harry, and for everyone in this room, and Louis is so, so happy to be back.

Harry grips Louis’ hand tightly while he greets people. He looks around doe-eyed, drinking in the sights of everything like he’s never seen them before. He looks completely different and yet exactly the same from when Louis first saw him step foot inside Adrenaline. Louis remembers him smirking and sipping his goddamn martini and eyeing Louis up; Louis sees him now, grinning and dimpled and sparkly and happy. This is the real Harry, and Louis is so fucking in love with him it hurts. 

When Harry spies Niall and Liam, he shrieks in excitement, tugging Louis by the hand towards them. People slap Louis’ shoulders in congratulations and greetings as they weave through the crowd, and even though it’s been months since Louis has seen Harry’s friends, he recognizes them instantly. 

“Harry!” shouts Niall Horan over the music, sloshing his drink into Liam’s, who smiles sweetly at Louis. “Louis!” His eyes drift to their intertwined hands, and he grins wider, as if he already knows what Harry is about to say. 

“Got something to tell you!” Harry yells. “Louis and I are together! As in we’re dating!” 

Niall claps him on the back, and Liam’s face falls. Louis thinks his heart stops. 

“Fucking called it! Payno, you owe me a hundred bucks!” 

Liam sighs visibly and rolls his eyes, digging into his back pocket for a bill, which he hands over to Niall begrudgingly. Louis can’t help but laugh, while Harry gapes at them, offended. 

“You bet on us?” he asks. 

Niall just smacks a kiss on his cheek and heads in the direction of the bar. 

Harry’s hand slips out of Louis’ at some point. Louis doesn’t know where he drifts off to, but it’s kind of nice to just sit back and watch everyone dance for a bit. 

And so the night goes by in a blur of glitter and alcohol, and Louis performs, and when the crowd finally dies down it’s four in the morning and freezing cold outside and everyone is exhausted and sweaty and happy. Harry clings to Louis’ neck like a baby sloth, yawning and rubbing his eyes but his eyes are bright and there’s a smile on his face. Zayn’s smiling too, and smiling isn’t something Zayn takes lightly, especially after a long night. 

Bundled in thick coats and scarves and hats, (because Harry is obsessed with not getting sick and refuses to let any of them out of the house until they’re wearing at least three layers), they stagger out of Adrenaline. The moon is bright and reflecting against the damp pavement. Suddenly, the weather has gotten freezing, a cold Boston winter on its way, and normally Louis would be disappointed, but Harry is holding his hand and talking his ear off about how wonderful the night was, and Louis barely feels the cold. 

When they’re halfway to Louis’ place, it starts to snow. Harry gasps as the first couple snowflakes get caught in his eyelashes, and then opens his mouth and turns his face up towards the sky, almost falling over. Louis doesn’t know if he’s drunk or if he’s just Harry, but it’s so endearing Louis can’t help but do the same.

“Have you two weirdos never seen snow before?” Zayn asks, but he’s laughing as Louis and Harry try to keep from tipping over. “Jesus.” 

Louis collects a mouthful of snow and loops an arm around Harry’s neck, kissing him hard. 

“I love you,” he says, and Harry sighs contentedly, sucking on his lip. 

“I love you too,” Harry tells him. Zayn makes a gagging sound. The start of winter has never felt quite so wonderful. 

 

~   
  


The thing is, Louis has never really thought about what comes after Adrenaline. 

It’s always been such a huge part of his existence, the thought of it not existing seems foreign and strange and impossible. He guesses he’s always known that Adrenaline won’t be his life forever, but  _ now _ is all that seems to matter. 

The premise of moving on from what he has now is terrifying. Adrenaline is  _ everything, now.  _ So when Harry brings up what’s next in his career over a hot chocolate in a warm Starbucks two weeks before Christmas, all Louis can do is stare at him blankly. 

“You know,” Harry says. He’s holding Louis’ hand over the table with one of his, his other scooping at the whipped cream in his cup. Louis blinks at him over the screen on his laptop. He’s arranging a new mix, and Harry has a textbook and a neon pink highlighter in front of him. It’s nice and quiet and they both have the day off, snow falling softly outside. “Would you ever...like, consider going back to school?”

“I. Well.” Louis takes a slurp of his latte. “Not really. Never seen the purpose in it.” 

“Would you want to?” Harry’s abandoned studying to lick cream off his fingers and watch passerby out the foggy window. A dog trots past and Harry smiles. 

Louis slides his headphones off. “I...don’t know. I don’t think college was the right path for me, if you know what I mean.” 

“Yeah,” Harry says. “I’ve. Well, I’ve been thinking about stuff.” 

“Go on,” Louis encourages, tilting his head. 

“I...I want to come out to my parents.”

The words hang in the air solemnly. They’re almost tangible; Louis feels like he can see them, wavering above the table, and then watches them drop into their drinks after Louis doesn’t speak for a moment. 

“What brought this on, darling?” Louis asks slowly, carefully. Harry is looking at him, completely serious. 

“I’m tired of hiding, I guess.” Harry shrugs, sinking back into the seat. “I see you so...out and proud, and I want that for myself.” 

“Babe, I’m out, but you don’t have to be. I don’t want you to be pressured like that. I still love you; I don’t care if you’re out and proud, I just want you to be happy.” 

“No, I. I know. And I love you. I just...I really want this. Really bad. Like, more than anything.” He and Louis look at each other for a moment, and then Louis sighs, rubbing his thumb over Harry’s knuckle. 

“Well. As someone who has history in counselling LGBT youth, there are a few things I want you to think about.” Harry blushes, biting his lip. “For starters, how your parents will react.” 

“Not well,” Harry says after sucking some more cream off his finger. “I’m ninety nine percent sure I’ll be kicked out, at least for a while until their tempers blow over.” 

“Alright. So if something like that happens, you’ll come stay with me for a bit, yeah?” 

Harry nods. 

“Do you think you’ll be safe? Like.” Louis scratches at the stubble on his chin. “Do you think you’ll be physically harmed by coming out to your parents?” 

He watches Harry closely, waiting for ‘ _ No. No way, my parents would never hit me’.  _ But instead, Harry shrugs, shrinking back further into his seat and tracing swirls in the fogged window. Louis feels like his heart shatters into a million pieces. 

“Harry,” he says hollowly. Harry just looks away and picks at his fingernail. 

“My...my parents don’t hit me,” Harry says slowly, voice small. “But. I’m scared...my dad might if I tell him.” 

They’re silent for a moment, more tangible words hanging heavily in the air. 

“Would you feel comfortable having me there?” Louis asks calmly. 

Harry nods again. 

“They. They used to. Like, when I was twelve to fifteen. Because I went through a little rebellious stage and suddenly I didn’t want to be a doctor anymore. It was all about art, and painting, and I got. Kind of feminine? Like I grew out my hair and wore patterned shit and I didn’t have any friends because all I did was study all the time. They got worried. So I...well, I was depressed a lot of the time, and kind of refused to go to school for a bit, and the only way to get me to do anything was for them to push me around a bit.”

“Fuck,” Louis says through gritted teeth, fist clenching around his latte. “Jesus, Harry, I’m so fucking sorry.”

“One time, I painted my nails with my mum’s nail polish, and my dad caught me before I’d been able to remove it, and that was pretty bad. Like. Busted lip, black eye bad.” 

Louis’ eyes sting with angry tears. He can just  _ picture  _ a little, thirteen year old Harry, with pale pink nails and a purple bruise on his face. Fuck. 

“Fuck.” 

“I’m okay now,” Harry says quickly. “It’s been years, Lou. But I’m twenty one years old, and I don’t wanna live with my parents forever. I’ve...been thinking.” 

“Yeah?” Louis asks, trying to hide the way his voice shakes. 

“I don’t think Harvard...is for me.” 

Louis chokes. “Y--yeah?” 

“I wanna go to art school.”

One of these days, Harry is going to send him into cardiac arrest. “You wanna drop out?” 

Harry bites his lip. “Yeah,” he replies quietly. “After I’ve come out. I’ve...I have enough to get my own place at some point, and enough to get me through a year at an MFA fellowship, if I get in. I just need to get through finals so I...so I have closure. But then I want to leave.” 

Harry looks so certain when he says all this, like he’s thought about it in great detail. His face is soft and his hands are warm but his eyes are determined, mouth set in a firm line. He’s confident, and so brave. 

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” Louis asks him. 

Harry takes a deep breath. 

“Yes,” he says. “That’s what I want.” 

Louis takes Harry’s hand in both of his own, squeezing once. 

“Then I’ll help you,” Louis tells him. 

 

~

 

It seems like fate is pulling every last thread together when Louis gets a phone call while Harry’s taking his last final of the semester. 

He’s sat on a freezing bench in Harvard Yard with a perfect view of the medical building, snow boots heavy on his feet. There’s a beanie on his head and a scarf around his neck, and he blows warm breath into the cold air. Normally, this time of year, he’d be smoking, but with Harry around he’s taken to avoiding it. He’s too pure for anything other than clean, filtered air. 

(Louis knows he’s protective. He doesn’t care.)

Harry’s been stressed. He has his textbook and laptop out anywhere and anytime he can, he’s working. Louis’ proud of him, of course, but everything seems rushed and stressful now that he knows what Harry’s plans are. It’s a tense advent. 

He’s expecting for Harry to emerge from the building beaming with success, for them to walk back to Louis’ house together sipping hot chocolates and sharing a croissant. He’s not expecting his phone to start buzzing incessantly in his pocket. 

He digs around, narrows his eyes at the unknown number, and answers it. 

“Hello?” 

“ _ Hi, is this Louis Tomlinson? _ ” 

“...Yes? Who is this?” 

“ _ This is the Boston Youth LGBT+ Resource Center. We’re calling regarding your nightclub, Adrenaline?”  _

“Oh!” Louis exclaims. “Oh, hi! Yeah, that’s me, I own Adrenaline. How can I help you?”  

“ _ Well, we understand that you’ve been a very active voice within the community in Greater Boston, and we would love to work with you in any way we can in order to help get your voice and your resources get to young people in the area. _ ” 

“Well...that’s very nice of you,” Louis replies, taken aback. 

“ _ We’ve been looking for someone to assist us in running a new LGBT youth center in Area 4, and we were hoping you’d be interested. If you’d be willing to work with us, we’d like to offer you a grant in order to get the youth center up and running. _ ”

“Oh,” Louis says. 

“ _ We have ten thousand dollars to offer you--we’d love to schedule a meeting at some point in the New Year to discuss the opportunities available. _ ”

“Oh my god,” Louis says. “Oh my god. Um. That’s amazing? Thank you so much. I’d love to meet with you, where are you based?” 

“ _ Currently? We, uh, we’re based in a St Peters. In Central. _ ” 

The huge door to the medical building swings open slowly, releasing hordes of students. Louis keeps an eye out for Harry’s black puffer coat and furry hood; he catches sight of his abnormally tall figure emerging from the building and holds up an arm to wave. Harry begins his trek across the icy grass to where Louis’ sitting. 

“That’s wonderful. What you’re doing is amazing. Thank you so much for calling. Do you have my email?” 

“ _ It’s on your website, _ ” the person on the other end says cheerfully. 

“Right. I’ve...I’ve got to go, I’m sorry, but thank you so much for everything and please please please email me on whenever you want to meet.” 

A bright-eyed and flush-cheeked Harry approaches, grinning widely when he sees Louis. 

“ _ Absolutely. Thank you for your time, Mr Tomlinson. _ ” 

“Call me Louis,” Louis says, and Harry raises an eyebrow, before the line goes dead. 

“Who was that?” Harry asks. The cold air has made his nose and cheeks bright pink, and his curls are poking out from under his hat. 

“Talk later,” Louis tells him. “How’d it go?” 

“Aced,” Harry giggles cheekily. “My last legacy on this school.” He turns to face the medical building. “Bye, Harvard.” He gives it a salute.

“Bye, Harvard,” Louis echoes, before beginning the walk through the thin layer of snow that’s collected on the ground. 

They’re safe to take each other’s hands once their off campus, swinging their arms on the way back to Louis’ place. Harry nuzzles into his side while Louis orders a hot chocolate, a plain latte, and a strawberry frosted donut, and they walk leisurely. The school year is over; Harry’s time at Harvard Medical School is done. 

Louis tells Harry about his phone call, and Harry looks so happy Louis thinks his smile might split his face in two. There’s a date set for Harry’s coming out--the twentieth of December. Louis hasn’t brought up the two of them living together yet, but he will. 

Fate has been doing a lot of good for them lately. Louis trusts it’ll hold out until the end of this final stretch. 

 

~

 

“Baby. Just breathe.” 

They’re poised at the door of Louis’ flat, ready to leave, and Harry starts hyperventilating. Louis’ been waiting for this; the moment where he panics, realizes just what he’s about to do. Louis has been there. It’s just part of how it works, but that doesn’t make it easy or fair, and Louis wishes he could rewrite history so that he wouldn’t have to see Harry so upset right now. 

“I’m gonna lose them,” Harry sobs. He’s shaking in Louis’ hold, smearing tears into his coat. “Lou, I’m gonna lose them today.” 

“Shh,” Louis soothes, stroking the back of his head. “You’re okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, baby.” Louis knows that saying ‘they still love you’ or ‘you’ll be fine’ or ‘don’t worry’ is just spewing lies, and he won’t lie to Harry. All he can do is keep him calm. 

“I’m so scared,” Harry cries, voice muffled. “I’m so fucking scared.” 

“I know, baby. I know.” 

“I can’t do this.” 

“You can,” Louis says firmly. “I know you think you can’t now, but you can, you’re so brave.”

Louis pets the small of Harry’s back until his breaths even out and he stops crying. 

“You ready, darling?” Louis asks him. 

Harry wipes his eyes, cheeks. He takes a big gulp of air and releases it.

Then he nods. 

 

~

 

“Harry, dear? Is that--oh!” 

Louis gives Anne Styles a wave, keeping his lips set in a tight smile. 

“Hello, Louis!” Anne greets. “What a surprise! Harry, there you are! Come in, come in. It’s freezing out there.” 

The house is decked out for Christmas. Their tree is up and fully decorated, there’s a beautiful wreath at the door, there are garlands hanging from every hook and there are embroidered stockings on the mantelpiece. Harry has his own. Louis doesn’t know what’s about to happen. 

“Hi Mrs Styles,” Louis says. “How are you?” 

“I’m well, dear, how are you?” 

“I’m great, thanks.” Louis clears the path for Harry to walk in. His hands are shaking--Louis notices, but his mother doesn’t. 

“How did the exam go?” Anne asks. She looks cheerful but there’s an edge to her tone. 

“It was good,” Harry says automatically. He shakes the snow off his boots and slips his coat off. Normally Louis helps him take his coat off. He has to restrain himself, now. “Is dad here?” 

“Upstairs. Why? Louis, would you like some pumpkin pie?” 

“I’m good, thanks.” 

“Louis and I are going upstairs,” Harry says, and then nudges Louis towards the staircase before heading up. Louis can’t force himself to meet Anne’s eyes. 

Harry’s bedroom is cold and empty and dark. The second the door is closed behind Louis, Harry digs under his bed and pulls out a small suitcase, frantically rifling through his drawers and tossing clothes in. 

“My toiletries are in the bathroom,” Harry instructs Louis quietly, jerking his head towards a door obscured behind posters and paintings. Louis accepts the Ziploc bag Harry hands him and starts collecting Harry’s things.

They move efficiently and silently. The last thing Harry packs is his record player. The walls are left barren and his paintings removed. It takes about twenty minutes total, and when they finish, Harry zips up the suitcase and drags it out to the top of the stairs. 

“You ready?” Louis asks him quietly in the doorway of his bedroom. 

“Yeah,” Harry says. There’s no sign of tears now; just pure determination. 

They kiss slowly, softly, and then start down the stairs. 

Anne is in the kitchen, rifling through mail when they walk in. “Will you be staying for dinner?” she asks Louis, peering up at him over her reading glasses. 

“Actually, mum, I wanted to talk to you and dad about something,” Harry blurts out. 

Anne tilts her head, confused, but maintains her smile and composure. “Can’t it wait, dear? James will be over soon.” 

“It’s important,” Harry tells her. “Like. Really important.” 

“You know I don’t like hearing your ‘like’ and ‘um’s,” Anne says disapprovingly. “You’ve been doing it an awful lot lately.” Louis’ fists clench, and Harry’s breath hitches. 

“Sorry,” he says quickly. “I need to talk to you and dad about something important.” 

“We have a guest over,” Harry’s mother reminds her son. 

“I know,” Harry says. They exchange a look, and then Anne sighs, straightening up and going upstairs to get Des. 

Louis wants to say something, but can’t think of anything. They seat themselves on the couch while they wait, and then Anne and Desmond walk into the sitting room. The fireplace is on and crackling, and it’s homely and nice, and then Louis remembers everything Harry told him, and his whole body feels cold. 

Desmond eyes Louis warily. Louis stares right back, until Des looks away. Louis pictures him hitting Harry. He swallows down the rising bile in his throat. 

“What is it you need to talk about?” Anne asks patiently. 

Harry swallows; Louis watches his throat bob. He looks at both his parents, then looks at Louis. Then looks Desmond dead in the eye. 

“I’m bisexual,” he says, with not an ounce of hesitation. 

Anne gives a small intake of breath. Des narrows his eyes at his son. 

“Excuse me?” Desmond says, voice quiet and haunting. No wonder Harry’s scared of the man. 

“I’m bi. I’m not straight. I’m attracted to all genders.” 

Anne makes a little shocked noise. Desmond stares at his son. 

“Harry, dear, are you ill?” Anne asks. “This isn’t like you, dear.”    
“I’m not sick, mum. I’m fine. I’m me. I’m your son.” 

Des sighs and folds his hands. He’s quiet for a moment. 

“Where’d this come from?” he asks finally. 

“It didn’t come from anywhere. It’s just me. I’m not straight. I’m proud of it, too.” 

“Harry,” Anne says, voice low and warning. “I’m certain this is just a little phase, and you’re just having a bit of fun and rebellion, but we don’t do things like that in this household.” 

“It’s not a phase,” Harry says, and Louis is impressed by how steady his voice is. “Louis is my boyfriend. We’re in a committed relationship. I’m not experimenting. I’ve been bisexual my whole life, you’ve just been too busy with Harvard you haven’t had time to notice.” 

At the same time, Harry’s parents turn their eyes toward Louis. Anne doesn’t look quite so welcoming anymore. 

“You...you and Louis are dating,” Anne repeats slowly. “Harry, this isn’t you.” 

“It  _ is! _ ” Harry exclaims. “It’s me. This is who I am. I’m not your perfect little Harvard boy. I want to be an artist. Louis is my boyfriend, and I’m in love with him, and if you can’t accept that, then I’m leaving.”

Desmond stands up, and adrenaline shoots through Louis as he stands as well. 

“I think you should go home, boy,” Des tells Louis. “We’re having a family discussion.” 

“I think you should sit down,” Louis says, voice solid and deep and intimidating, and Desmond blinks at him, narrowing his eyes before doing as he says. Louis sits back down as well. 

“There...there are things we can do,” Anne tells him desperately, frantically. “There are camps for this sort of thing. Medical procedures! Shock therapy, yes? That cures this kind of thing.” 

Louis feels like throwing up all over her expensive carpet. 

“You’d rather put me through shock therapy than just accept me here and now?” Harry asks, voice breaking for the first time. Boldly, Louis takes his hand tightly. Harry’s parents watch him do it. 

“This isn’t  _ you _ ,” Anne repeats. “You’re...you’re our son. Now you’re telling us you want to be an artist? You...you don’t want to graduate?” 

“I’m dropping out,” Harry says. “I’m enrolling in an MFA fellowship. I don’t want to become a doctor.” 

Anne’s jaw drops, and Des’ eyes widen. 

“ _ What _ ?” 

“I aced my last exam. My tuition is paid for with my own money. And I’m moving out.” 

Anne starts to cry. 

“Harry, how could you do this to us? How...you’re a homosexual? How could you do this to us? You selfish, selfish boy!” 

Louis stands up again and puts a hand on Louis’ shoulder. 

“Let’s go, H,” he says.  _ Before things get more heated than they already are. _

“Do not touch my son,” Desmond demands, and Louis’ heart rate picks up. Des rises from his seat again, taking a step towards them, and Harry shrinks back into the sofa, clutching to Louis’ arm. 

“How about you stay back,” Louis dares. “Don’t come nearer than you already are, please.” 

“I’m leaving,” Harry is saying. Anna is nearly hysterical. “I’m sorry. But you never let me live my own life, and now I’m an adult. I’m leaving.” 

“Come on, babe,” Louis tells him gently. “Let’s go.” Harry rushes to his feet and scurries up the stairs, and Desmond makes to follow him, but Louis stands in the way, blocking his path and jutting his chin out so he looks taller than he is. 

Harry finishes dragging his suitcase down. Louis backs towards the door slowly, ensuring Des keeps a safe distance. 

“Harry, you can’t just leave!” Anne cries. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry says. “Thank you for everything.” 

Then he opens the door, and he and Louis walk out. 

 

~

 

Louis drives Harry’s car. 

Harry is completely silent and even more still. He doesn’t move or say anything the entire journey. Of course Louis’ worried; Harry just got told by his mother he’d be put into shock therapy if he’d stayed. Of course Harry had to get out of there. 

It’s not easy. It’s horrible. But it had to happen. 

“You alright, baby?” Louis asks carefully after they park in a space outside Louis’ building. 

Harry nods. Then he gets out the car, lifts his suitcase out of the trunk, and strides into the lobby of Louis’ apartment complex. 

Louis steels himself against the door of Harry’s Range Rover with a deep inhale of December air. They’re okay. Harry’s free. 

Everything’s okay. 

 

~   
  


Harry’s quiet all evening. 

He stays curled up on Louis’ couch with Louis’ laptop laying a constant stream of  _ Supernatural,  _ wrapped up in blankets while Louis keeps his mug of tea full and his tummy satisfied. Louis gives him popcorn, and orders Indian food because it’s his favorite, and gives him lots and lots of kisses, but Harry just kind of stays numb. He eats a little bit, and then at ten pm, he’s rubbing his eyes with his sweater paws and yawning and falling asleep on Louis’ shoulder. 

“I love you,” Louis whispers into Harry’s hair even though he can’t hear him. “I love you so much.” 

He wakes Harry at midnight gently, sending him to bed, while Louis turns the lights off and makes sure the door is locked. When he walks into the bedroom, Harry is already snuggled under the blankets, sniffing and sighing against the pillow. He’s already half asleep again. 

Louis brushes his teeth, washes his face, changes, and gets into bed beside Harry. Harry isn’t crying at all, just breathing softly, and he puckers his lips when Louis slides in next to him, asking for a kiss. 

Louis kisses him carefully, slowly, like he’s afraid Harry might break. 

“Go to sleep, baby,” Louis whispers when Harry breaks the kiss to yawn again. “I’m right here. You’re all good.” 

“Love you,” Harry whispers back. 

“Love you,” Louis answers, but Harry’s already asleep. 

 

~

 

On Christmas Eve, Louis wakes up with his dick in Harry’s mouth. 

“Nngh,” he manages to choke out, peering down at where Harry’s deepthroating him, and then letting his head fall back heavily on his pillow. “Fuck.” 

Harry moans around him and takes him impossibly deeper. 

“Jesus Christ, Harry…” 

Harry then pulls off, batting his eyelashes at Louis. His lips are red and wet and swollen. “Happy birthday, Lou,” he says, voice raw. Then he sucks Louis down again. 

The holiday season has always been a bit messy for Louis. His birthday falls on the convenient day where nothing was ever really about him; the excitement of Christmas always beat him by a long shot. Even now, he’s used to living alone, so he’s never really had anyone other than Zayn to enjoy the season with. He’s never woken up on his birthday to a blowjob before, but there’s a first time for everything. He hopes the same thing happens next year. 

Louis has never owned a Christmas tree of his own, which Harry had made his mission to achieve before today. He can see it through his bedroom door; there it is, lit up sparkling and bright, decorated in rainbow colored baubles. They’d forgotten to get a star at Target, so they’d crafted one out of chopsticks and rubber bands. Louis’ proud of his work. 

He comes down Harry’s throat with a moan, then presses Harry back into the mattress and returns the favor. Later, Harry gifts him with a pile of vintage records, and they listen to them on Harry’s pink record player while they eat dinner--they order pizza, which seems appropriate, and when they’re done eating, they play the records again and slow dance in front of where  _ Love Actually  _ is muted on Louis’ laptop. 

That night, Harry puts on lipstick he got from god knows where and Louis absolutely ravishes him. It’s quite possibly the best birthday Louis’ ever had. 

 

~

 

Harry is like a small child on Christmas morning. 

“Louissssss,” he whines into Louis’ ear. It must be barely nine am. “Wake up. It’s Christmas. Can we open presents?” 

Louis grunts and rolls on his side, trapping Harry underneath him. 

“Lou. Louis. Louissssss. Wake up. Merry Christmas.” 

It’s a solid hour before Louis finally stumbles out of bed, flipping on his coffee machine and pulling on one of Harry’s sweatshirts over his boxers. Harry seems to like that a lot, and makes out with him against the fridge, before remembering the premise of presents and scurrying over to the Christmas tree. 

There are four wrapped gifts on the floor. Two of them are from Zayn, each for Harry and Louis, and the other two are for each other. Harry starts playing a Christmas CD on Louis’ laptop while they sit down on the floor, Harry giddy with excitement, Louis watching him fondly. 

They open Zayn’s together. Louis gets a pair of socks printed with middle fingers that say  _ Fuck You  _ on the toes, a rubber band ball, and a Bryan Adams Greatest Hits CD. Harry gets a flower crown, cactus socks, and Fleetwood Mac,  _ Rumours _ . 

Harry frowns. “I already have this,” he says. Then he flips it over, and his jaw drops. 

“What the fuck!” he shouts. Louis grins. “What the fuck! Louis Tomlinson, care to explain what the fuck this is?” He thrusts the case under Louis’ nose, and Louis sees the signature written there:  _ Stevie Nicks _ . “What the fuck!” 

“Cool, huh?” Louis asks. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Harry shrieks. “She touched this? Holy fuck. I think I’m gonna faint.” 

Louis takes a few pictures of him smiling with his brand new CD, and sends a selfie to Zayn, followed by a photo of their feet together, both wearing their gifted socks. 

“Okay, open mine first,” Louis tells Harry. Harry giggles at the messy wrapping, peeling back the tape. 

“Oh my god, Lou,” Harry gasps. He reveals a set of paints, a stack of canvases, and a set of nice brushes. “This is so much. Oh my god.” 

“Do you like them?” Louis asks anxiously. “I can return them if--” 

Harry cuts him off by kissing him hard. “I love them. And I love you. You’re so thoughtful. Open mine.” 

Harry’s gift is small, wrapped perfectly, envelope shaped with a ribbon tied around it. Louis furrows his brows at it, and unwraps it carefully. 

It’s a little paper envelope, as he thought; he peels back the flap, and takes out the things inside. 

They’re concert tickets. 

“We’re seeing The Eagles!” Harry cries, peppering Louis’ face with kisses at Louis gapes at the tickets. 

“Are you shitting me?” Louis asks, to which Harry shakes his head, smiling. “Jesus fuck, Harry Styles, you’ve really gone and one-upped me there.” Harry laughs, and they kiss again, Harry knocking Louis back onto the floor. 

For supper, they eat the ham Louis’ spent all day cooking in buttered, white bread sandwiches, because Harry has made it very clear he hates cranberry sauce. They listen to the Christmas album again, gush about each other some more, watch  _ Elf _ , and fall asleep on the couch together. 

It’s by far the best Christmas of Louis’ life.

 

~

 

Louis decides that there’s no time like the present, and that if he’s gonna take Harry to New York City for New Years, he might as well do it now. So he packs Harry’s Range Rover full of snacks, burns a CD full of their favorite songs, and begins the four hour drive to Manhattan. 

Harry sleeps for the first half of it, which Louis doesn’t mind. The second half, he wakes up, singing along and watching the scenery drift by in a blur. 

“Do...do you miss your parents?” Louis asks casually. “How are you feeling about everything?” 

Harry hasn’t really cried about it at all since the day he came out and left home. Not that Louis had expected him to, but he’s worried there hasn’t been closure. That Harry’s still storing something inside him; that the magnitude of what’s happened hasn’t sunk in yet. 

Harry shrugs. “I miss them, I guess. Or maybe it’s just the idea of them. I guess I was used to feeling on edge all the time around them, and now I don’t have to do that, which is great, but...they’re still gone. And I’m glad I’m not there anymore. I’d rather be with you.” 

That’s that. 

 

~

 

New York City is bustling and loud and populated and Louis loves it. 

The snow is slush and the ice is deep puddles in the pavement and the air is thick and gross and traffic is a constant flow, but it’s real and beautiful and Louis has Harry beside him. 

They find street parking a little walk away from Times Square. Harry insists they get a proper lunch, even though it’s five in the evening, Harry treats them to a hot dog each and their usual hot chocolate and regular latte. It’s one big, giant adventure. Zayn’s not here for the first time in a while, and Louis misses him, but it’s nice to have Harry here instead. Feels brand new and exciting and perfect. 

Six hours until midnight. Louis and Harry stick bags of chips in their coats and trudge into Times Square, searching for a decent spot to see the ball drop. When their feet grow tired, they abandon cleanliness and sit down on the dryest patch of curb they can find, passing a hot water bottle back and forth between them. They try and keep their kisses to a minimum at first, saving it for midnight, but how can Louis resist Harry when his nose and cheeks are bright pink and he’s wearing vanilla chapstick and his hair is all wild underneath his beanie? 

Simple. He can’t. 

It gets dark quickly, and before they even realize it’s night, there are performers onstage and Ryan Seacrest is screaming into his microphone over a loudspeaker. It’s probably not safe to be sitting so low to the ground with thousands of people pressed around them, but down here it’s nice and warm and they can hear the music but it’s distant and a little bit muffled. The time goes by so quick when they’re with each other. 

Louis doesn’t even notice it’s ten minutes to midnight until Harry is standing up and tugging at his sleeve. An endless chorus of  _ Sweet Caroline _ is being sung by the crowd, and Harry joins in, throwing his head back and shouting love at the sky. Five minutes to midnight. Louis and Harry sing it at each other, softer, into each other’s skin. Two minutes. Harry starts jumping up and down to warm himself up. 

One minute. They scream a countdown into the still nighttime air, and suddenly it’s  _ seven, six, five, four, three… _

“I love you, Louis Tomlinson!” Harry shouts. 

“I love you, Harry Styles!” Louis yells back. 

There was once a time where Louis couldn’t imagine kissing a boy on New Years. There was a time where he was ashamed of wanting to. There was a time when he would’ve probably kissed a girl, just for the hell of it, and there was a time when he wouldn’t kiss anyone at all. There was a time when he spent New Years Eve alone, wishing he had someone to call his own. There was a time where he probably would’ve kissed Zayn, and there was a time when Zayn would’ve turned away, repulsed. 

There was a time when the idea of standing in Times Square on New Years Eve with a boy he’s in love with, breath tasting like mocha and leftover hot dog and mint chewing gum, wearing matching beanies and screaming a love song to the empty sky, seemed impossible. 

But the clock strikes midnight, and Louis Tomlinson kisses Harry Styles, surrounded by sparkling buildings and singing crowds and Ryan Seacrest chanting “ _ Happy New Year! _ ” to the people below. 

They kiss for ten seconds. Louis is counting. Then Harry throws his head back and closes his eyes.

“Fuck Med School!” he shouts. 

Louis is in love with the most complicated and wonderful human in the whole universe, and he doesn’t regret a single goddamn thing. 

 


	3. epilogue

It’s ten thirty in the morning, and the bright June sun is making the pavement sparkle. 

Harry steps off the subway platform and begins up the steps. There’s a group of young girls laughing by the station, wrapped in rainbow flags. A dog trots by wearing a bright red bandana; he’s held on a loose leash by two elderly men, holding hands and chatting to each other. It’s perfect weather; the sky is bright blue and the sun is shining, and there’s a nice breeze rustling the grass in the common. A group of people sit in the field, blaring music from an iPhone and coloring with Sharpie. 

Harry’s phone starts buzzing in his pocket. He smiles at the ID; he can’t help it. 

“Hi, Lou.” 

“ _ Hi, darling. Whereabouts are you? _ ” 

“Just got off the train. I’m on my way.” 

“ _ Fabulous. See you soon, babe. _ ” 

He whistles as he walks. Around him, people prepare for the day’s celebrations; there’s body paint and glitter everywhere, and somehow, Mardi Gras beads are already littering the ground like glistening treasure. A drag queen strides by, heels as tall as Harry’s entire hand.    
It’s Pride. Harry’s first pride, and he’s spending it with Louis. 

When he gets to the step-off point, he immediately searches the crowd for Louis. This is the first year he’s marching with an organization other than Adrenaline; he’ll be with his youth center, the one he runs downtown. There’s a beautiful atmosphere about everyone. Harry’s never felt so happy. 

He picks at the acrylic paint stuck to his fingers from yesterday’s classes and finally, his eyes fall on Louis’ figure through the crowds of people. He’s standing with Zayn, painting a young teenager’s face, and Niall and Liam are standing next to him, conversing seriously about something. They never left Harvard, but Harry has stayed friends with them, Louis even offering them both a job at the youth center, which they’d accepted. Liam came out as pan a few months ago, and since then, he and Zayn have been flirting so constantly none of them have even  _ bothered  _ to set a bet. 

Harry greets Louis by kissing him on the temple and hugging him tightly from behind. Louis smiles softly and leans into his touch, not stopping his face painting.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Louis says, pecking his cheek and then his lips. The group of teens around them coo, and Louis rolls his eyes while Harry smirks. “Put away those dimples, you dork.” 

“I’m excited,” Harry says softly. “Nervous, too.” 

“Don’t worry, baby. Nobody’s judging you here. Just be yourself, do what feels nice. You have your flag?” 

Harry steels himself. Being at art school has certainly made him more open, but he’s still not used to not hiding himself. His big bi flag is folded tightly and stuck in his back pocket, waiting for him to work up his courage. “Yeah,” he says anyway. 

“Good. Alright, Ian, you’re all set.” The teenager grins and runs off to join their friends. “H, look at me. Gonna paint your face.” 

Harry closes his eyes and juts his chin out until he feels cold paint on his skin. Louis’ touch is cooling and calming and gentle, hands working surely. 

“I love you,” Harry says for no reason other than he can. 

“Love you more,” Louis replies instantly, and Harry can’t stop his smile. 

Louis paints a butterfly on each of his cheeks, in the same colors as his pink polka dot t-shirt. “Perfect,” he says, examining his work. “You look ravishing, Harold.”    
Harry pouts, which causes Louis to lean in and kiss him nice and proper. 

“No making out in front of Zayn,” Zayn calls flatly, and just to make a point, Louis slaps Harry’s ass once before releasing him. 

A whistle blows, signalling five minutes until the parade starts. Niall sprints over, reaching into a paper bag. 

“Look at me, H,” he instructs. “Close your eyes.” Right before Harry complies, he catches sight of Liam laughing at something Zayn’s said while Zayn gives him blatant heart eyes. 

Harry feels Niall blow glitter all over his face. It gets on his lips and tangles in his eyelashes and he thinks he inhales some, but it’s all perfect. Everything is perfect, and Louis kisses the glitter out of his mouth and then splutters, and they’re laughing and hugging and Harry gets a sudden burst of confidence. 

He digs his flag out of his pocket, unfolds it, and ties it around his neck like a cape. 

Music starts to play from one of the floats. Louis’ own cape is glimmering in the sun, just like the glitter covering his face, covering the ground, covering  _ everything.  _ Louis takes Harry’s hands and spins them around, singing  _ Party in the USA  _ at the top of his lungs. Another whistle blows. It’s time. 

Louis takes the lead, grasping Harry’s hand tightly, while Niall and Liam bear the huge banner-- _ Adrenaline Youth Center of Boston _ \--and they start down the street to whoops and cheers. 

It’s fucking beautiful. Harry’s never seen anything quite like it. The sheer amount of people there make him feel like everything--leaving his parents, coming out, panic attacks and nightmares--was worth it. Like he’d do it all again if it meant getting to live in this day with Louis beside him. 

When the crowds watching the parade get bigger, Harry knows there’s an ache in his feet, but he barely feels it over the deafening music and the cheers. This is home, isn’t it? Home isn’t a 20th century mansion in Harvard Square, home is here with Louis and with love all around him. 

“Get on my shoulders!” Harry tells Louis. Their capes flutter behind them, glitter and sweat running down their face. He bends down and Louis leaps onto his back, laughing hysterically when he almost topples over. 

People are blowing party horns and whistles and waving their flags like they know they belong. Harry is so fucking glad he met Louis. 

“I love Pride!” Harry cries happily, spinning around so fast Louis is almost displaced from his spot on Harry’s shoulders. 

“I love you!” Louis shrieks back. 

Harry thinks he could stay here forever with this boy, wrapped in rainbows under the summer sun and watching the pavement sparkle in the light. With a soaring, surging force of utter happiness, he realizes he never has to leave. 

 

**the end.**

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u so much for reading ! this fic was a big process : i gotta thank [griffin](https://sunshinemocha.tumblr.com) for the last minute beta !! bby u are a lifesaver !!  
> if u enjoyed this feel free to leave me a comment or a kudos n u can find me on tumblr [here](https://dystopianharry.tumblr.com) !
> 
> \- bella xx


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